LIBRARY) 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO       ! 


PUSHED  BY  UNSEEN  HANDS. 


"In  the  brain,  that  wondrous  world  with  one  in 
habitant,  there  are  recesses  dim  and  dark,  treacherous 
sands  and  dangerous  shores,  where  seeming  sirens 
tempt  and  fade;  streams  that  rise  in  unknown  lands 
from  hidden  springs,  strange  seas  with  %ebb  and  flow 
of  tides,  resistless  billows  urged  by  storms  of  flame, 
profound  and  awful  depths  hidden  by  mist  of  dreams, 
obscure  and  phantom  realms  where  vague  and  fear 
ful  things  are  half  revealed,  jungles  where  passion's 
tigers  crouch,  and  skies  of  cloud  and  blue  where  fan 
cies  fly  with  painted  wings  that  dazzle  and  mislead; 
and  the  poor  sovereign  of  this  pictured  world  is  led 
by  old  desires  and  ancient  hates,  and  stained  by 
crimes  of  many  vanished  years,  and  pushed  by  hands 
that  long  ago  were  dust,  until  he  feels  like  some 
bewildered  slave  that  Mockery  has  throned  and 

crowned." 

INGERSOLL. 


PUSHED   BY  UNSEEN 
HANDS 


BY 
HELEN  H.  GARDENER 

AUTHOR    OF 

"Men,  Women  and  Gods,"    te  Sex  in  Brain,"    "Pulpit,  Pew  and 
Cradle,"    "Is  This  Your  Son,  My  Lord?"    "A  Thought 
less  Yes,"    "Pray  You,   Sir,   Whose  Daughter," 
"An  Unofficial  Patriot,"  and   "  Facts  and 
Fictions  of  Life" 


FOURTH  EDITION 


NEW  YORK: 

R.  F.    FENNO  &   COMPANY 

9  AND   I  I   EAST    1 6TH  STREET 


Copyright  1890 

BY 
HELEN  H.  GA.RDENKR 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE, 9 

AN  ECHO  FROM  SHILOH, 17 

OLD  SAFETY-VALVE'S  LAST  RUN,     ....  37 

How  MARY  ALICE  WAS  CONVERTED,       ...  77 

A  HALL  OF  HEREDITY, 97 

"THAT  REMINDS  ME  OF" .        .        .        .137 

His  MOTHER'S  BOY, 157 

MR.  WALK-A-LEG  ADAMS  "MEETS  UP  WITH"   A 

TARTAR, 197 

ONYX  AND  GOLD, 219 

IN  DEEP  WATER, 245 

A  PRISON  PUZZLE, 271 


PREFACE. 

1 >  ACK  of  all  human  action  there  is    a 

sufficient  cause.  Some  of  the  more 
open  and  simple  causes  we  have  learned  to 
recognize.  But  in  the  complex  and  as  yet 
unanalyzed  varieties  of  mental,  moral,  social, 
industrial,  or  other  aberrations,  of  what  is 
by  courtesy  called  civilized  society,  we  are 
constantly  confronted  by  strange  manifesta 
tions  which  we  have  made  little  intelligent 
effort  to  comprehend. 

In  the  industrial  world  the  unseen  hand 
of  greed  has  pushed  millions  of  men  into 
an  abjectness  measured  only  by  the  awful 
limits  of  their  dependence.  It  has  fostered  in 
the  race  those  mental,  moral  and  physical 
conditions  which  retard  even  the  painfully 
slow  progress  of  natural  evolution  toward 
a  loftier  manhood. 


io  Preface. 

Again,  in  the  dark  and  untrod  halls  of 
heredity  we  have  ignored  and.  still  insist 
upon  ignoring  the  plainest  finger-prints 
of  the  "  unseen  hands  that  long  ago  were 
dust."  Only  when  those  finger-prints  are  left 
in  blood  do  we  deign  to  recognize  them, 
— when  it  is,  alas,  too  late  to  place  in 
their  shadowy  grasp  the  roses  of  beauty 
and  sheathe  for  them  the  weapons  which 
are  double-edged.  And  so  the  blind  lead 
the  blind  and  are  pushed  by  the  blind  un 
til  they  stumble  by  chance  or  fate  upon 
horror  or  hope,  and,  learning  nothing  by 
the  experience,  their  children  and  their  chil 
dren's  children  still  grope  within  the  same 
dark  walls  and  draw  the  window-shades 
of  habit  and  inherited  forms  of  thought 
against  the  sunlight  of  science  and  a  ra 
tional  to-morrow. 

Often  our  very  courts  of  Justice  are 
made  partners  with  the  criminals  they 
prosecute  because  they  must  administer 
laws  which  have  come  down  to  us  from 


Preface.  1 1 

the  unseen  hands  of  brutal  power  brutally 
applied,  or  from  ignorance,  superstition,  un 
fairness  or  stealth. 

The  Past  claps  its  fleshless  hands  and 
the  Present  dances  to  the  music  of  the 
rattling  bones.  Until  we  cease,  in  the 
darkness  of  willing  blindness,  to  put  patches 
on  the  Past  and  learn  to  fit  a  new  gar 
ment  to  the  fair  form  of  the  Future,  we 
shall  continue  to  be  pushed  and  swayed  and 
controlled  by  the  myriad  unseen  hands  that 
should  be  to  us  a  helpful  memory  and  not 
a  merciless  menace. 

In  these  little  studies  of  social  and  hered 
itary  conditions  I  hope  I  may  have  sug 
gested  many  lines  of  thought  to  those  who 
care  to  think,  and  furnished  imaginative  en 
tertainment  for  those  who  prefer  to  muse. 

Dr.  E.  C.  Spitzka,  the  leading  brain  spe 
cialist  (or  alienist)  of  America,  in  writing  of 
certain  of  these  stories,  says: 

"  I  am  inclined  to  criticise  and  commend 
this  work  much  more  earnestly  than  would 


1 2  Preface, 

be  looked  for  from  the  technical  position  of  a 
specialist.  I  attach  far  more  than  a  mere 
literary  value  to  two  of  these  stories,  to  which 
especial  attention  is  not  likely  to  be  directed, 
and  believe  no  other  author  of  fiction  has 
ever  adequately  attempted  what  is  here  done. 
The  book  will  not  only  retain  a  place  in 
my  library,  but  I  also  feel  sure  that  other 
more  'unified'  works  by  the  same  pen  will 
be  placed  beside  it.  Appealing  as  they  may 
to  a  larger  circle  of  readers,  they  must  earn 
the  author  a  recognition,  alas,  to-day,  awarded 
to  many  shallow  pretenders  instead.  .  .  . 
We  see  strange  things  in  the  field  of  heredity, 
and  I  can  pay  the  book  no  higher  compliment 
than  to  say  that  I  had  heretofore  believed 
only  specialists  capable  of  at  once  intelli 
gently  and  popularly  dealing  with  these 
subjects."  .  .  . 

While  this  most  eminent  brain  authority 
honors  these  sketches  with  a  place  in  his 
library,  on  the  basis  of  their  scientific  sug 
gestion  and  value,  the  late  Don  Piatt  wrote 


Preface.  1 3 

of  similar  stories  by  the  same  pen,  which 
have  appeared  'under  another  title : 

"  It  is  not  that  they  are  beautiful  stories, 
for  the  charm  is  not  in  the  fact  of  the 
story,  but  in  the  delicate  touch  that  leaves 
so  much  to  the  reader's  imagination.  It 
requires  an  imaginative  genius  to  do  this. 
With  such  a  quality  and  with  her  exquisite 
touch  she  has  a  genius  for  writing  fiction 
which  she  should  not  throw  away  or  degrade 
on  reformative  novels  or  scientific  specula 
tion.  These  stories  are  rare  fiction.  Facts, 
science  and  reformation  work  belong  in  an 
other  field." 

And  so  each  must  decide  for  himself 
what  these  stories  contain  for  him.  Whether 
they  present  to  his  mind  scientific  suggestion 
of  important  facts,  or  merely  offer  the  enter 
tainment  of  more  or  less  impossible  fiction. 
Whether  they  will  amuse  his  leisure  hours 
and  tickle  the  fancy  of  a  drowsy  man,  or 
whether  they  are  a  stimulus,  a  suggestion  or 


14  Preface. 

a  query.  The  mental  outlook  of  each  reader 
will  determine  the  value  and  quality  of  the 
author's  message  for  him. 

HELEN  H.  GARDENER. 
New   York. 


^^ffiEPr 


AN  ECHO  FROM  SHILOH. 


'Is  not  this  something  more  than  fantasy? 
What  think  you  of  it? 
Before  my  God,   I  might  not  this  believe, 
Without  the  sensible  and  true  avouch 
Of  mine  own  eyes." 

.     .    .     ««xhe  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures:   'tis  the  eye  of  childhood, 
That  fears  a  painted  devil."     .     .     . 

"I  tell  you    again,   Banquo's  buried;   he  cannot 
come  out  of  his  grave."     .... 

"There    are    more  things   in  heaven   and  earth, 

Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy." 

SHAKESPEARE. 


AN   ECHO  FROM   SHILOH, 

T  T  is  impossible  to  recall  now  what  started 
the  discussion.  I  remember  that  we 
suddenly  found  ourselves — as  people  con 
stantly  do — in  the  midst  of  a  speculative  phi 
losophical  debate,  the  genesis  of  which  be 
longs  with  the  infancy  of  the  race,  and  its 
exodus  will  possibly  be  coincident  with  the 
extinction  of  mankind. 

"  Now,  here  is  a  thing  I'd  like  you  to  ex 
plain  to  me,"  the  thoughtful  German  gentle 
man  who  sat  in  the  corner  was  saying.  "  You 
say  that  you  don't  believe  in  spirits,  but  how 
do  you  account  for  a  thing  like  this — and, 
mind  you,  I  do  not  say  it  is  spirits  do  it,  but 
I  only  ask  you,  how  do  you  account  for  it 
otherwise?  It  was  in  1872.  The  medium 
was  not  what  you  call  a  professional ;  but  she 
was  the  little  daughter  of  a  friend  of  ours. 


2O  An   Eclio  from    Shiloh. 

She  was  bareh  sixteen  years  old  then.  We 
were  all  sitting  around  a  table  like  this — you 
know  how  they  do  it — and  it  was  clear  day 
light.  She  went  into  a  sort  of  trance.  Then 
she  began  to  shiver  and  say  *  Oohoo ! '  like 
that,  a  sort  of  tremble.  At  last  she  said  to 
me, '  Don't  you  remember  me  ?  oh,  Herman, 
don't  you  know  me?  You  did  me  the  last 
kindness  I  received  on  earth.  I  am  Lud- 
wig —  Her  voice  died  out,  and  she  said 
again, '  L-u-d-w-i-g,'  in  a  far-away  kind  of  tone. 
I  couldn't  remember  ever  having  had  a  friend 
by  that  name  for  whom  I  had  done  any  spe 
cial  last  service.  I  tried  hard  to  think,  and 
the  others  went  on  talking.  I  recalled  a 
schoolmate,  in  Germany,  of  the  name ;  but  he 
had  died  in  California,  and  I  was  not  there. 
Another  by  the  name  was  not  dead  yet.  And 
so  I  ran  over  all  the  people  I  had  ever  known 
who  were  named  Ludwig,  and  I  said, '  You've 
made  a  mistake.  I  never  did  a  last  service 
for  anyone  named  Ludwig/  The  girl  had 
come  out  of  her  trance,  and  we  told  her 


An    Echo  from    Shiloh,  21 

what  she  had  said.  She  argued  with  me 
that  there  must  have  been  such  a  person — 
because,  she  said,  she  had  no  knowledge  of 
what  she  had  done  or  said,  and  some  one 
must  have  spoken  to  me  through  her.  I  said 
1  No/  and  I  stuck  to  it. 

"  At  last  she  said  she'd  try  again.  She  did. 
This  time  her  hand  grasped  a  pencil,  and  the 
moment  she  was  unconscious  she  wrote: 
'  Oh,  don't  leave  me !  Ludwig  Maxer. 
Shiloh.'  The  memory  came  back  to  me  as 
from  the  dead  indeed.  My  heart  stopped 
beating.  I  had  not  thought  of  him  for  years. 
He  had  never  been  my  friend — only  a  chance 
comrade  in  arms — and  so  many  who  were 
nearer  and  dearer  had  gone  down  that 
same  awful  day,  and  later  on,  that  his  very 
memory  had  faded  from  my  mind.  It  all 
came  back  like  a  lightning  flash  in  a  clear 
sky.  That  you  may  understand  how  this  can 
be  so,  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  a  little  war  his 
tory:  You  know  I  was  on  what  you  call  the 
wrong  side — the  Confederate  side.  It  is  no 


22  An    Echo  from    Shiloh. 

matter  now  whether  it  was  right  or  wrong. 
One  thing  is  very  certain,  it  had  its  heroes, 
and  few  of  its  stories  have  yet  been  told. 
But  dat  is  needer  here  nor  dare,"  he  said,  for 
getting  his  English  accent  and  dropping  into 
the  attractive  broken  inflection  and  pronun 
ciation  that  lend  an  added  charm  to  the  con 
versation  of  educated  and  thoughtful  Ger 
mans,  whose  mother-tongue  is  the  language 
of  their  thought  and  affection,  no  matter  how 
carefully  they  school  themselves  to  conform 
to  the  demands  of  the  language  of  the  land 
of  their  adoption. 

My  German  friend's  ordinary  every-day 
sentences  not  only  followed  his  English 
grammar,  but  the  inflection  gave  but  slight 
clue  to  his  nationality.  When,  however,  he 
warmed  to  a  thought  or  story  that  carried 
him  out  of  himself,  his  tongue  would  slip 
certain  letters,  and,  as  I  say,  add  charm 
to  the  earnestness  and  force  of  his  un 
guarded  naturalness,  until  he  would  notice 
it  himself,  and,  with  an  effort  of  memory 


An   Echo  from    Shiloh.  23 

and  will,  set  his  tongue  on  the  English 
track  again. 

Some  one  else  spoke,  and,  in  the  break 
which  followed,  much  of  the  fire  died  out  of 
his  face,  and  perhaps  out  of  his  thought  as 
well,  and  his  speech  resumed  the  beaten  path 
of  conventional  English. 

"  It  was  at  the  battle  of  Shiloh.  I  belonged 
to  the  color  guard.  Volunteers  were  called 
for  to  deploy  and  throw  out  a  line  toward  a 
thicket  to  see  if  there  were  masked  batteries 
behind  it.  At  first  a  few  men  and  then  very 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  Twentieth  Louisiana 
regiment  responded  to  the  call,  and  we  were 
ordered  to  go  far  enough  to  draw  their  fire  if 
batteries  were  ambushed  there,  and  then  fall 
back  when  the  test  had  been  made.  Nearly 
one  thousand  men  marched  toward  those 
bushes.  We  had  to  march  through  a  corn 
field — and  every  old  soldier  will  understand 
what  that  means.  Hidden  from  each  other 
— there  is  no  place  so  terrible  to  a  soldier 
as  a  cornfield!" 


24  An   Echo  from    Shiloh. 

His  voice  dropped,  and  his  eyes  assumed 
a  look  of  intense  thoughtfulness  as  he  faced 
his  handsome  wife. 

"  I  was  not  a  married  man  then,  and  yet  it 
took  a  great  deal  of  grim  determination  to 
face  the  unknown  but  suspected  danger. 
Gott!  I  haf  often  wondered  how  the  men 
did  it  who  knew  there  were  wives  and  chil 
dren  at  home  waiting  for  dem !  But  dat  is 
needer  here  nor  dare!" 

Again  he  pulled  back  to  the  story  and  to 
English. 

"They  waited  until  we  were  almost  on 
them,  and  then — whiz !  they  opened  fire. 
Three  hundred  and  twenty-one  of  us  were 
alive  to  tell  the  tale !  Poor  August  Zegler 
was  shot  through  the  body,  and  fell  with  the 
flag  under  him.  He  was  the  color-bearer. 
He  was  shot  through  the  bowels,  and  fell  on 
his  face  on  the  flag. 

As  we  turned  to  run — our  orders  were 
only  to  learn  if  batteries  were  masked  there, 
and  then  retreat — and  we  had  surely  learned 


An    Echo  from    Shiloh.  25 

that,"  he  added,  as  a  grim  aside — "as  we 
turned  to  run  I  rolled  poor  August  over  on 
his  back  and  caught  up  the  flag  from  under 
him.  It  was  the  Confederate  flag — the  flag 
you  think  was  on  the  wrong  side,  and  no 
doubt  it  was,  but  it  was  our  colors,  and  I 
saved  it." 

Some  one  in  the  room  said  it  was  a  fine 
action;  but  he  did  not  pause,  and  had  no 
thought  of  his  deed,  although  he  had  been 
promoted  to  a  staff  position  as  a  result  of  this 
bit  of  bravery.  He  was  only  coming  to  his 
point  in  the  story. 

"  Just  as  I  caught  up  the  flag  and  had  got 
five  or  six  feet,  with  an  impetus  that  threw 
me  still  further  ahead,  poor  Ludwig  Maxer 
fell  on  one  knee  at  my  side,  and  said, '  Oohoo,' 
in  a  sort  of  a  long  shiver,  and  put  out  his 
hands.  He  had  been  shot.  He  cried  out — 
not  especially  to  me:  'Oh,  don't  leave  me 
behind!'  With  the  natural  impulse  of  a  com 
rade  I  crowded  my  other  arm  around  him 
and  tried  to  pull  him  to  his  feet  again.  He 


26  An    EcJio  from    Shiloh, 

had  been  hit  in  the  small  of  the  back,  and 
my  arm  hurt  him  worse  dan  de  shot.  He 
made  a  groan,  his  head  dropped  on  my  shoul 
der,  and  he  was  what  you  call  unconscious. 
One  of  de  odder  boys  threw  an  arm  around 
him  on  de  odder  side,  and  we  dragged  him 
forward  until,  from  behind  a  covered  place, 
some  of  us  carried  the  dead  weight  into  the 
ranks  and  on  behind  de  line." 

The  German  paused  to  wipe  his  fore 
head  and  begin  his  deliberate  English  again. 

"  I  say  dead  weight — and  it  was  that — for 
he  was  all  paralyzed  below  the  waist  now. 
But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  What 
I'm  coming  to  is  this.  The  poor  fellow  died 
two  days  later  without  ever  uttering  a  word, 
and  the  strangest  thing  about  it  all  was  that 
his  little  pet  squirrel  that  he  always  carried 
in  his  pocket  had  to  be  buried  with  him.  We 
couldn't  take  it  away.  It  fought  and  bit  us 
every  time  we  tried,  and  ran  back  into  his 
breast  pocket.  We  wrapped  the  flag  we  had 
rescued  around  poor  Maxer,  and  from  be- 


An    EcJw  from    Shiloh.  27 

neath  the  blue  folds  the  little  head  of  his 
faithful  comrade  peered  as  we  lowered  him 
into  his  grave.  We  covered  him  very  slowly 
to  give  it  time  to  get  out  when  it  should  un 
derstand  that  it  was  really  to  be  buried ;  but 
the  trembling  creature  held  its  place  and — 
and — we  buried  it  alive."' 

There  was  a  long  pause.  His  voice  had 
grown  low  and  almost  tender.  Several  per 
sons  murmured  inaudible  trifles,  but  all  were 
intensely  interested  and  eager  for  him  to  go 
on. 

"  But,  as  I  say,"  he  continued,  a  moment 
later,  "  there  had  been  so  many  nearer  and 
dearer  to  me  who  were  killed  that  day  and 
afterward,  in  the  war,  that  the  memory  of 
poor  Maxer  and  his  pet  squirrel  had  died 
out  of  my  mind  until  this  child-medium 
flashed  it  across  my  mental  vision  again  like 
lightning  in  a  clear  sky.  Now,  how  do  you 
account  for  that?  " 

"  She  had  heard  of  it  at  the  time,"  began 


28  An    Eclw  from    Skilok. 

the  incredulous  lady  on  his  left;  but  he  did 
not  allow  her  to  finish  the   sentence. 

"  Mind  you,  I  don't  say  it  is  spirits.  All  I 
say  is,  these  are  the  facts,  and  I'd  like  to  hear 
some  one  account  for  them." 

The  gentleman  opposite  took  up  the 
suggestion  thrown  out  by  the  skeptical 
lady. 

"The  medium  had  heard  of  it  at  the  time, 
or — more  natural  still — you  had  told  it  in 
the  town  after  the  war,  and  she  had  gotten 
hold  of  it." 

But  the  German  was  ready  to  meet  both 
suggestions : 

"You  must  not  forget  that  war  was  a 
mere  name  to  the  little  girl  who  did  that. 
She  was  barely  sixteen,  and  all  this  had  been 
ten  years  before.  She  could  hardly  have 
heard  of  it  at  the  time — and,  besides,  she 
did  not  even  know  I  had  been  in  the  battle 
of  Shiloh."  He  paused,  and  smiled  in  a  sar 
castic  way.  "And  as  for  me  telling  dose  facts 
in  dat  border  town  so  soon  after  de  close  of 


An    Echo  from    SJtilok.  29 

de  war — did  any  of  you  live  in  what  was 
called  de  border  States  along  about  dat  time  ? 
No?"  He  displayed  more  excitement  as  he 
asked  the  question  than  at  any  time  be 
fore,  and  his  accent  lapsed  with  his  self-con 
trol.  "No!  Well,  den,  all  I  got  to  say  is, 
anybody  who  didn't  haf  to  tell  he  was  with 
Beauregard  wasn't  telling  it.  And  I  was  a 
young  German.  Nobody  suspected  that  I 
had  been  in  the  army.  They  thought  I 
had  lately  landed,  and  I  let  dem  think  dat. 
It  was  what  you  call — healthier." 

We   all   laughed. 

"  It  was  mind  acting  on  mind,"  began  the 
lady  from  Boston.  "You  were  not  aware 
that  you  were  thinking  of  your  comrade  in 
arms  at  Shiloh;  but  you  were,  and  in  her 
supersensitive  state  your  own  thought  im 
pressed  itself  on  the  mind  of  the  child  whom 
you  call  a  medium." 

Several  agreed  to  this  explanation.  One 
or  two  questioned  it.  The  words  "  second 
ary  consciousness,"  "  unconscious  cerebra- 


30  An    Echo  from    Shiloh. 

tion,"  "thought  transference,"  and  the  like, 
mingled  with  the  general  flow  of  suggestion 
or  assertion  that  each  felt  in  duty  bound  to 
offer  as  his  or  her  contribution  toward  the 
solution  of  the  question.  The  German  list 
ened  to  them  all.  Then  he  said  slowly: 

"  You  must  remember,  I  don't  say  it 
was  the  spirit  of  Ludwig  Maxer.  I  don't 
know  what  it  was  that  spoke  and  wrote — 
through  that  child — but  I  do  know  it  wasn't 
what  you  are  all  talking  about  now.  I 
tell  you  I  couldn't  recall  any  such  man  un 
til  the  second  time,  when  she  wrote  the 
full  name  and  '  Shiloh ! '  I  had  hardly 
known  his  first  name.  I  was  new  to  the 
country  and  new  to  the  war.  I  was  drafted 
soon  after  I  had  gone  South,  and  was  not 
even  in  a  regiment  of  men  whom  I  had 
known  before.  Some  in  my  own  company 
had  become  almost  dear  to  me,  but  he  be 
longed  to  Company  K,  and  I  to  Company 
F.  We  had  had  nothing  in  common.  His 
death  and  burial  were  to  me  what  you  call 


An    Echo  from    Shiloh,  31 

a  mere  episode,  and  but  for  the  squirrel  I 
doubt  if  I  could  have  recalled  any  of  it 
after  so  long*  a  time,  and  after  so  many 
other  experiences  in  the  war  and  since.  For, 
you  see,  I  was  in  a  strange  land  then,  and 
I  had  married  and  had  a  family  since  that 
happened.  So  much  had  filled  in  my  life 
in  these  ten  intervening  years,  and  that  was 
such  a  mere  episode  in  with  the  rest,  I 
had  forgotten  it.  Oh,  no,  she  did  not  get 
it  from  my  mind  that  day.  I  got  it  from 
hers,  and  so  I  say  how  do  you  explain  it? 
Spirits  I  do  not  say  it  was.  Mind-reading 
and  the  like  I  know  it  was  not." 

He  whispered  an  aside  to  his  wife, 
who  had  appeared  nervous  while  he  talked. 
Then  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
yields  a  point: 

"My  wife  wants  me  to  tell  you  one 
thing  I  thought  I  would  leave  out.  She 
thinks  it  is  strangest  of  all.  It  is  dis — " 

"This,"  said  his  wife,  gently  touching 
his  hand. 


32  Aii    EcJw  from    Sliiloh. 

"  Yes,  this.  When  the  little  medium  took 
the  pencil  to  write  the  name  she  seemed 
partly  conscious.  As  she  wrote  it  she  jerked 
aside,  and  her  hand  tried  to  drop  the  pen- 
cil  and  push  something.  When  she  came 
out  of  her  trance  again,  her  finger  had 
several  small  bloody  scratch-like  marks  on 
it,  and  she  said  that  all  she  remembered  of 
her  second  trance  was  that  a  squirrel  tried 
to  bite  her  finger.  Now,  how  do  you  ac 
count  for  that?" 

The  lady  from  Boston  smiled,  but  made 
a  note  on  an  ivory  tablet  of  the  new  point 
in  the  case.  Under  the  note  she  wrote, 
"Optical  illusion?  Imagination  or?" — 

Two  or  three  of  the  party  began  to  talk 
in  asides  of  the  new  feature  in  the  matter, 
and  labor  to  fit  it  into  their  previously  es 
poused  theories,  each  giving  a  different  expla 
nation.  No  one  doubted  the  German's  sin 
cerity,  and  no  one  questioned  his  common- 
sense.  His  integrity  was  above  suspicion. 
Yet  his  story  was  being  explained  away  on 


An    Echo  from    SJdloh.  33 

all  sides.  Some  of  the  explanations  left  the 
problem  vaguer  than  it  was  before.  Some 
of  them  were  patently  inadequate,  and 
others  were  simply  ridiculous;  but  each  per 
son  had  a  theory  that  appeared  to  satisfy 
himself. 

Each  listened  to  his  neighbor's  hypothe 
sis  with  deep  scorn  or  profound  incredulity, 
and  met  some  point  with  the  German's 
original  inquiry:  "But,  on  that  basis,  how 
do  you  explain  this?"  And  so  the  evening 
came  to  an  end,  and  each  went  his  way, 
triumphant  in  his  own  mental  attitude, 
which  touched  the  shores  of  the  unknown 
at  his  individual  angle,  and,  to  his  indi 
vidual  satisfaction,  answered  the  question 
from  which  we  started. 

And  yet  no  two  answers  agreed. 


OLD  SAFETY-VALVE'S  LAST 
RUN. 


.     .     .     "But  I  remember  now 
I'm  in   this  earthly  world;  where,  to  do  harm, 
Is  often  laudable:  to  do  good,  sometimes, 
Accounted  dangerous  folly."     .     .     . 

SHAKESPEARE. 

"Another  age  may  divide  the  manual  labor  of 
the  world  more  equally  on  all  the  members  of  soci 
ety,  and  so  make  the  labors  of  a  few  hours  avail  to 
the  wants  and  add  to  the  vigor  of  the  man." 

EMERSON. 

"You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 
Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut." 

SHAKESPEARE. 

"The  rich  man's  wealth  is  his  strong  city:  the  de 
struction  of  the  poor  is  their  poverty." 

BIBLE. 


OLD   "SAFETY-VALVE'S" 
LAST    RUN. 

I. 

^XAHE  express  train  was  due  at  Hardy's 
Station  twelve  minutes  before  three 
A.  M.  The  night  was  clear.  A  white  moon 
light  fell  on  the  track  direct  and  full.  The 
grade  was  easy  and  the  curve  not  unduly 
short,  and  yet  there  was  a  collision.  A  col 
lision  so  awful  in  force  and  so  terrible  in 
results  that  the  entire  country  was  thrown 
into  a  fever  of  excitement  when  the  "extra" 
shout  was  heard  in  every  city  early  the  fol 
lowing  day,  and  people  read  with  feverish 
haste  and  shuddering  horror  the  details  of 
the  awful  calamity. 

"  Extra !  '  stra !  '  stro !  Ex —  trbble—  sion 
— on— r — road!  ' "Bulloss'vlif e !  Extra!" 

Who   has   not  heard   the   blood-curdling 


40          Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

cry?  Who  has  not  felt  his  heart  stand  still 
as  it  flashed  through  his  brain  that  some 
loved  one  might  be  on  that  very  train? 
Who  has  not  felt  the  wildly  glad  sense 
of  relief  when  assured  that  the  disaster 
was  on  another  road  than  that  chosen  by 
the  treasure  of  his  own  household?  Who 
has  not,  later  on,  been  shocked  by  his  sel 
fish  joy  and  settled  down  to  a  numb,  dead 
consciousness  of  pain  and  sorrow — a  vague 
pain,  a  subdued  sorrow — for  the  unknown 
hearts  that  were  torn  and  bleeding  as  his 
own  might  have  bled  and  sorrowed?  Ah, 
the  limitations  of  human  sympathy! 

Who  has  not  forgotten  the  very  acci 
dent  a  few  days  later,  and  passed  with  un 
thinking  carelessness  the  darkened  house 
of  the  neighbor  who,  alas,  has  a  home  no 
more? 

Longer  than  the  sympathy  for  the  be 
reaved,  there  lingers  in  the  brain  resent 
ment  against  the  living  and  a  desire  to 
bring  to  retributive  justice  the  careless  or 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         41 

wanton  cause  of  the  accident.  In  the  case 
of  the  disaster  at  Hardy's  Station  public 
opinion,  as  voiced  by  the  press,  asserted 
that  it  wanted,  must  have,  and  intended  to 
find  the  exact  cause  of  the  terrible  collision. 

The  fireman  was  supposed  to  be  one  of 
the  dead  whose  charred  bodies  had  not 
been  recognized;  but  the  engineer — a  man 
of  unusual  culture  and  capacity  in  his  oc 
cupation — was  in  custody,  and,  it  was  said, 
had  admitted  that  he  was  asleep  at  his 
post.  At  this  point  the  superintendent  of 
the  road  had  sent  him  a  warning  to  say  ab 
solutely  nothing  until  he  was  placed  on 
oath,  and  he  had  obeyed  the  command  of 
his  superior  officer. 

The  superintendent  explained  that  since 
the  engineer  had  been  an  old  and  trusted 
employe,  he  did  not  want  him — on  the  im 
pulse  of  self-accusation,  under  the  sting  of 
conscience  and  public  censure — to  say  things 
that  might  lead  to  his  own  condemnation 
at  the  trial. 


42          Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run. 

"It  is  quite  possible  that  the  rails 
spread  or  that  the  air  brake  parted,  so  that 
he  shot  past  the  siding,  and  into  the  other 
train  so  suddenly  that  he  himself  is  too 
dazed  to  be  sure  just  how  it  did  happen. 
I  wish  to  talk  with  him  before  he  says  any 
more  for  the  public.  Perhaps  I  can  lead 
him  to  recall  everything.  They  say  he  is 
quite  dazed  now  and  full  of  wild  blame  for 
himself  and  for  some  one  yet  unknown. 
Perhaps  /  can  get  at  it.  Let  me  see  him 
alone." 

The  superintendent  had  seen  him  alone, 
but  this  interview,  he  said,  had  not  been  sat 
isfactory.  Nothing  new  came  out.  The  super 
intendent  said,  "I  told  him  that  I  would 
stand  by  him;  that  the  road  would  be  his 
friend;  that  he  need  not  be  distressed  nor 
afraid.  I  thought  best  to  quiet  him.  In 
that  way  he  will  become  more  collected 
and  better  able  to  go  through  the  pre 
liminary  trial  next  week.  He  is  apparently 
both  stubborn  and  insane  now,  for  he  was 


Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run.         43 

resentful  toward  trie  road — for  what  reason 
I  fail  to  see — and  full  of  wild  blame  for 
himself,  and  still  he  swears  that  he  could 
not  help  it.  It  is  a  strange  case." 

But  before  the  trial,  the  self-tortured 
engineer  had  made  up  his  mind  to  tell 
the  exact  truth  and  take  the  consequen 
ces.  He  felt  that  he  would  not  then  be 
the  only  one  to  fall  under  public  censure, 
and  still  his  sensitive  soul  shrank  and 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  causing  still 
farther  sorrow  to  other  homes.  The  super 
intendent  had  pointed  out  to  him  that  no 
good  could  come  of  such  wholesale  ravings 
as  his,  and  that  the  wives  and  families  of 
others  than  the  dead  were  to  be  thought 
of. 

"  You  are  a  bachelor,  John,"  he  had  said. 
"Remember  that,  and  we  will  stand  by 
you  to  the  end.  The  coupling  broke.  The 
switch  was  displaced,  the  air  brake  parted, 
perhaps.  Who  can  say  they  did  not?  Are 
you  sure  they  did  not?"  and  John  was  silent. 


44          Old  "  Safety -Valve  s"    Last   Run. 


II. 

The  trial  began.  The  engineer  was  on 
the  stand,  and  had  asked  to  be  permitted 
to  tell  his  story  as  he  could.  Excitement 
ran  high,  but  he  sat  pale  and  determined. 
Then  he  began  in  a  steady,  clear  voice,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  superintendent,  who  sat  on 
a  front  seat.  His  first  sentence  sent  the 
blood  all  out  of  his  superior  officer's  face, 
and  drew  a  hum  of  rage  and  condemna 
tion  from  the  spectators,  and  of  surprise 
from  the  legal  gentlemen  present. 

"I  was  asleep."  There  could  be  no  mis 
take  as  to  what  he  said,  and  yet  no  one 
could  believe  his  senses. 

"Nothing  happened  to  the  brakes.  They 
were  not  applied.  It  was  light.  The  track 
was  in  order;  but  I  was  asleep  and  did 
not  take  the  siding." 

There  was  perspiration  on  his  brow. 
He  raised  a  trembling  hand  and  wiped  it 
away.  The  superintendent  moved  uneasily 


Old  "Safety-Valves''   Last   Run.         45 

and  whispered  something  to  the  lawyer  for 
the   road. 

"  Hanging's  too  good  for  him,"  some  one 
back  in  the  room  said  loud  enough  to  be 
heard.  The  bailiff  rapped  for  silence. 

The  judge   turned   to  the  prisoner. 

"Had  you  no  sense  of  responsibility? 
The  public  must  be  protected  against  en 
gineers  who  sleep  when  on  duty." 

The  engineer  touched  the  bandage  on 
his  broken  arm  and  began  again:  "I  do 
not  know  how  I  escaped  instant  death,  nor 
how  I  jumped.  It  must  have  been  instinct. 
I  was  as  dead  asleep  as  a  human  being 
could  be.  It  seems  to  me  I  woke  up  after 
I  struck  the  ground.  I  was  dazed  like  that 
The  superintendent  will  tell  you  why.  He 
said  he  would  stand  by  me — that  we  would 
tell  the  truth.  He  knows  why  I  was  asleep 
and" 

"I  object,"  came  from  the  legal  gentle 
man  who  sat  next  to  the  superintendent 
"Mr.  Hart  is  not  on  trial." 


46         Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

Mr.  Hart's  eyes  flashed.  The  engineer 
looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  his  face 
flushed. 

"Keep  to  your  story,"  said  the  judge. 
"  What  business  had  you  to  be  asleep  on 
an  engine  going  at  full  speed  at  night?" 

"  Your  Honor,  I  did  all  I  could  to  keep 
awake,  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  the  track  far 
ahead  and  watched  with  an  intentness  no 
one  can  understand  but  the  honest  engineer 
who  knows  what  a  frightful  responsibility 
his  is;  who  feels  keenly  the  value  of  the 
lives  in  his  keeping,  and  yet  who  also 
realizes  that  his  own  physical  powers  are 
trembling  on  the  verge  of  collapse."  He 
paused  and  wiped  his  forehead  with  his 
roughened  hand  and  changed  the  position 
of  his  bandaged  arm.  "  Your  Honor,  I  knew 
that  I  was  keeping  eyes,  but  not  brain, 
awake.  I  struck  my  head  a  sharp  rap  two 
or  three  times  with  my  fist.  That  called 
my  deadened  energies  up  for  a  moment — 
but  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  Nature 


Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run.         47 

claimed  my  mind.  I  could  not  keep  it.  My 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  track.  My  hand 
was  on  the  throttle — but  I  was  asleep.  I 
realize  that  I  was  sound  asleep,  your  Honor. 

No  denial  is  possible.     There" 

An  irresistible  movement  of  indignation 
stirred  the  court-room  again.  The  specta 
tors-  looked  first  at  the  prisoner,  and  then 
at  the  jury  with  eyes  that  conveyed  no 
doubt  as  to  what  the  verdict  would  be  if 
they  might  give  it.  Asleep  at  his  post! 
The  guardian  of  all  those  lives — those 
sleeping,  helpless  beings  who  had  confi 
dently  put  themselves  in  his  care  but  a  few 
hours  before — to  be  trapped  like  rats  in  a 
burning  mass  of  wood  and  iron  that  he 
might  doze  at  his  post  and  jump  to  safety, 
leaving  them  to  their  fate!  What  need  to 
conduct  the  trial  farther?  He  had  admitted 
his  guilt.  Hanging  was  too  good  for  him. 
He  should  have  fifty  lives  to  be  taken,  and 
each  should  be  yielded  up  if  that  were 
possible.  The  prosecutor  felt  that  his  case 


48         Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last  Run. 

was  won  and  repeated  to  himself  the  old 
maxim  that  he  who  attempts  to  conduct 
his  own  defense  has  a  fool  for  a  client.  He 
pitied  this  man  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  for  having  refused  to  accept  as  coun 
sel  the  young  attorney  who  had  volun 
teered  his  services;  for  even  he  would  have 
had  more  sense  than  to  have  allowed  this 
confession.  He  might  have  set  up  some 
decently  plausible  theory  in  spite  of  the 
facts,  that  would  have  left  a  loop-hole  of 
escape;  but  for  a  man  to  volunteer  such  a 
statement  as  that  he  was  simply  asleep 
on  an  engine  that  was  speeding  over  a 
moonlit  track,  and  that  being  asleep  he  did 
not  see  his  signal  orders  to  take  a  side 
track,  and  so  ran  full  head  into  another 
train — surely  such  a  confession  ended  the 
case.  He  smiled  at  the  jury  with  profes 
sional  pleasure  and  was  about  to  make  a 
remark,  when  Juror  Number  Seven  ad 
dressed  the  prisoner. 

"Do   you   mean  to  say  that  you   simply 


Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run.         49 

went  to  sleep  on  your  engine?  That  you 
were  sober  and" 

The  prisoner  lifted  his  heavy,  pathetic 
eyes  and  rested  them  on  his  questioner  for 
a  moment. 

"  I  was  sober,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  never 
drink,  but  I  was  asleep  on  the  engine.  I 
could  not  help  it.  I  was  asleep."  The  re 
iteration  was  pathetic  and  he  was  trem 
bling  now. 

The  prosecutor  remarked  drily  that  it 
would  be  a  good  idea  to  put  a  man  who 
had  a  little  habit  like  that  where  he  could 
do  the  least  harm. 

The  prisoner  turned  his  heavy  hunted 
eyes  from  the  juror  to  the  State's  attorney 
and  rested  his  head  on  one  hand.  Then 
his  eyes  wandered  to  the  face  of  the 
superintendent  of  the  road,  and  his  lips 
drew  themselves  a  little  tenser,  but  he  did 
not  speak.  The  superintendent  whispered 
to  the  prosecutor  that  they  might  as  well 
close  the  case  right  there,  "the  quicker  the 


5<D         Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

better;"  but  Juror  Number  Seven  was  ready 
with  another  question. 

"Had  you  the  habit  of  sleeping  at  your 
post?  Had  you  no  sense  of  danger — of 
responsibility?" 

"Your  Honor,"  broke  in  the  prosecutor, 
rising,  "the  State  has  nothing  to  prove. 
The  prisoner  has  saved  the  railroad  and 
the  State  the  necessity  of  dragging  the  case 
along.  I  have  just  been  instructed  by  Mr. 
Hart,  the  superintendent  and  representative 
of  the  road,  that  he  is  satisfied  to  have 
the  case  go  to  the  jury  just  as  it  is,  and 
certainly  I  could  do  little  to  strengthen  it. 
The" 

The  prisoner  had  struggled  to  his  feet. 
His  great  frame  shook  from  head  to  foot. 
The  color  had  left  his  face.  He  was  look 
ing  directly  at  the  superintendent  and  his 
ashen  lips  were  moving,  but  no  sound  es 
caped  them. 

This  man  whose  nerves  of  steel  and 
resolute  promptness  of  action  had  earned 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         51 

for  him  the  sobriquet  of  "  Old  Safety- 
Valve,"  and  made  him  the  envy  of  every 
engineer  on  the  line,  was  facing  a  danger 
that  was  new  to  him.  He  knew  how  to 
rely  on  himself.  He  knew  how  to  be  si 
lent  and  alert.  He  knew  what  measure  to 
put  upon  the  villainy  of.  a  wayside  tramp 
who  schemes  to  wreck  a  train  for  gain,  or 
by  appearing  to  save  it  from  a  danger  of 
his  own  devising,  reaps  the  harvest  of 
gratitude  and  gold  from  passengers  and 
people.  But  with  a  mind  tortured  by  the 
scenes  and  thoughts  of  the  past  few  days, 
with  nerves  unstrung  and  brain  tired  out, 
he  did  not  dare  to  risk  himself  to  decide 
in  such  a  case  as  this. 

It  could  not  be  possible  that  the  su 
perintendent,  who  had  known  him  and 
his  faithful  work  for  all  these  years,  who 
had  grown  up  in  the  service  with  him, 
who  had  placed  this  extra  duty  on  him  at 
a  time  when  he  had  made  earnest  protest — 


52          Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

it  could  not  be  possible  that  Sidney  Hart 
was  intending  to  desert  him  utterly! 

His  eyes  wandered  to  the  back  of  the 
room,  where  a  man,  pale  and  shabby,  stood 
in  a  group  that  would  have  been  described 
by  a  police  officer  as  "  court-room  loafers." 

The  prisoner  grasped  at  the  railing  in 
front  of  him.  His  eyes  dilated  and  his 
breath  came  in  short,  quick  gasps. 

"  Jim ! "  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  horror. 
"  Jim  !  they  are  blaming  it  all  on  me  !  And 
no  one  comes  to  help  me  but  the  dead ! 

Jim  !  Jim  !  It  is  too  late.  I  " He  put 

his  hand  to  his  tortured  head  and  sank  in 
a  heap  on  the  court-room  floor.  Not  dead, 
oh  no,  not  so  fortunate  as  that,  only  weak 
ened  in  body  and  mind.  Destined  to  live 
a  palsied,  trembling,  mumbling,  repulsive 
lump  of  clay,  neither  dead  nor  living.  In 
bondage  to  life  and  in  bondage  to  death. 
Belonging  to  neither  the  living  nor  the 
dead.  An  inhabitant  of  no  country — a  ten 
ant  of  no  tomb.  With  neither  past  nor 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Rim.         53 

future.  A  creature  of  infinite  pathos.  Na 
ture  had  whistled  down  brakes  when  the 
speed  was  too  high  and  the  coupling  had 
parted.  Henceforth  poor  Old  Safety-Valve 
would  run  on  an  unknown  track,  alone  and 
in  the  dark.  There  would  be  no  headlight, 
no  stations,  no  signals,  and  no  final  desti 
nation.  Aimless,  on  a  wild  engine,  poor 
Old  Safety-Valve  had  pulled  out  into  the 
infinite  blackness  that  engulfed  his  over 
wrought  capacities,  and  Sidney  Hart  de 
voutly  thanked  God  that  the  summons  had 
come  when  it  did. 

He  felt  that  Jim  Blanchard  would  be 
an  easy  man  to  silence.  Jim  had  a  large 
family.  He  had  deserted  his  post — and  Jim 
was  always  sadly  in  need  of  money !  For 
Superintendent  Hart  had  understood  at  a 
glance  that  the  ghost  that  deceived  the  al 
ready  overtaxed  brain  of  poor  Old  Safety- 
Valve  was  the  returned  fireman  of  engine 
42.  He  knew  that  the  old  fireman  had 
loved  his  comrade  on  the  iron  horse,  but  he 


54          Old  "Safety-Valve's"    Last 


knew,  too,  that  Jim  loved  life  and  a  certain 
little  brood  of  helpless  children  up  in  the 
hills  by  the  machine  shops  in  another  state. 
He  knew  that  grim  want  for  these  helpless 
little  creatures  would  be  a  potent  factor  in 
an  argument  with  Jim,  and  so,  in  the  con 
fusion  that  followed,  it  came  about  that  the 
superintendent  and  the  fireman  passed  out 
of  the  room  together  and  were  driven  away 
in  the  same  carriage.  A  strange  —  and  un 
der  ordinary  circumstances  —  an  inexplicable 
proceeding,  surely  ;  but  not  so  strange  to 
Juror  Number  Seven,  who  had  used  his 
eyes  and  ears  and  brain  to  more  than  usual 
purpose  all  along. 

The  calendar  had  broken  down.  The 
case  had  disposed  of  itself.  The  jury  was 
discharged.  The  stricken  prisoner  was  car 
ried  out  and  away  to  his  living  tomb.  The 
court-room  emptied. 

Three  hours  later,  Juror  Number  Seven 
saw  a  haggard,  wretched  man  emerge  from 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         55 

the  private  door  of  the  office  of  the  super 
intendent  of  the  Spanville  railroad.  It  was 
the  same  man  upon  whose  face  the  pris 
oner's  eyes  had  fixed  themselves  when  his 
mind  began  to  wander  —  when  the  final 
shock  came.  It  was  the  same  man  who 
had  been  taken  by  the  arm  and  put  in  the 
carriage  by  the  superintendent  as  he  had 
hurried  from  the  court-room.  It  was  the 
same  man,  but  his  face  was  a  different  face. 
Then,  it  had  been  haggard  and  wretched. 
Now,  it  was  desperate  and  distinctly  self- 
abased.  Then,  the  figure  was  bent,  poorly 
clad  and  depressed.  Now,  it  was  slinking. 
The  remnants  of  manhood  had  departed. 
The  ownership  of  even  a  mental  self  seemed 
gone  as  the  ownership  of  a  physical  self 
had  been  in  pawn  before.  Poor  Jim  Blan- 
chard  had  made  a  sturdy  fight ;  but  what 
good  could  it  do  Old  Safety-Valve  now  for 
him  to  tell  the  truth  ?  And  the  children 
were  hungry  up  there  on  the  hill  by  the 
car  shops.  They  were  growing  up  like 


56         Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run. 

weeds,  in  ignorance,  to  follow  in  their  fa 
ther's  footsteps  —  a  slave  to  poverty,  and 
now,  alas,  to  crime.  The  thought  came  to 
him  with  a  shock.  He  half  turned  to  re 
trace  his  steps  to  the  office  of  the  super 
intendent.  He  thought  he  would  like  to 
buy  back  his  soul,  even  if  the  bodies  of 
all  of  them  must  remain  in  perpetual  pawn 
as  the  result. 

Then  he  said  to  himself  that  it  would 
be  better  to  let  it  go  as  it  was  now.  What 
was  his  honor  worth  at  best?  All  he  was 
asked  for  was  absolute  silence,  and  the 
price  of  that  meant  comfort  and  education 
and  rest  to  the  tired  wife  and  the  little 
ones  on  the  hill.  What  could  his  peace  of 
mind — his  honor — be  when  compared  with 
all  that  ?  If  it  could  help  Old  Safety- Valve 
he  would  do  right  at  whatever  cost  to  those 

blessed   babies  ;    but "  He's   beyond   the 

clutch  of  the  law  now.  He  is  safe."  Jim 
remembered  that  those  were  the  very  words 
the  superintendent  had  used.  If  the  engi- 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         57 

neer  ever  "came  to,"  if  they  ever  undertook 
to  prosecute  him  again,  it  would  be  time 
enough  to  go  to  his  rescue.  If— 

"  Come  in  and  have  a  drink  with  me, 
old  man,"  said  Juror  Number  Seven  as  he 
saw  Jim  turn  around  for  the  fourth  time 
and  retrace  his  steps  half  a  block.  "You 
look  cold  an'  seems  to  me  I've  seen  you 
somewhere  before." 

"  I  am  cold,"  replied  the  fireman,  relieved 
that  some  one  had  spoken  to  and  taken 
him  out  of  himself.  "  But  if  I've  ever  saw 
you  anywheres  before  it  must  'a'  been  when 

we  was  both  drunk 're  in  hell,"  he  added 

with  a  desperate  attempt  at  humor. 

"  Well,  no  matter  about  that,"  replied 
the  Juror,  jocularly,  as  they  drained  the  first 
glass;  "but  we'll  fill  up  and  get  acquainted 
now,  an'  then  we'll  know  each  other  bet 
ter  when  we  meet  before  the  fiery  furnace. 
I'm  a  stranger  in  town  myself,  and  I'm  on 
a  toot.  I'm  willing  to  blow  in  a  few  stamps 
on  you — fill  her  up  again!"  he  said  to  the 


58         Old  "Safety-Valve's"   Last   Run. 

waiter,  a  little  later,  as  he  pushed  Jim's 
glass  across  the  table  for  the  fourth  time. 

'N   we   won'go'ometillmornin',   hey  ? " 

"  Not  if  the  court  knows  himself,"  said 
Juror  Number  Seven,  and  instantly  regretted 
his  words,  for  the  old  fireman  who  had 
begun  to  grow  maudlin  and  talkative  braced 
up  and  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  mo 
ment.  Then  he  leaned  over  and  said  in  a 
loud  whisper: 

"  Court's— a— dam— fraud  !  " 

Then  he  drew  down  the  corners  of  his 
eyes  and  nodded  eight  or  ten  times  in  rapid 
succession.  Juror  Number  Seven  wondered 
what  he  would  better  say.  The  belligerent 
look  in  the  old  fireman's  eye  led  him  to 
conclude  that  an  argument  would  be  most 
to  his  taste,  so  he  leaned  back  and  with 
exasperating  complaisance  remarked : 

"  Any  man  that  commits  a  crime  is 
mighty  likely  to  look  at  it  in  that  way." 

There  was  no  reply.  Jim  drank  the 
last  drops  in  his  glass  and  himself  beckoned 


Old  "Safety-Valves'   Last   Run.         59 

the  waiter  to  refill  it.  When  it  was  in 
his  hand  again,  he  lifted  it  unsteadily  across 
the  table  toward  his  companion  and  gave  it 
a  wavering  jerk  forward  and  remarked : 

"  Y'  don't  know  whatyer  talkin'  about. 
They're  alwaystryin'  th'  wrong  man." 

Juror  Number  Seven  nodded.  Then  he 
winked. 

"  Why  didn't  you  prove  an  alibi,  then  ?  " 
he  inquired  and  slapped  Jim  on  the  back 
and  laughed  uproariously. 

"  'Twasn't  me,"  said  the  old  man,  huski 
ly,  but  on  the  defensive  in  an  instant. 
"  'Twasn't  me.  'Twas  Old  Safety-Valve 
they  was  a-tryin'  'n  it  was  the  sup'rintend- 
ent  they  had  oughter  a  tried.  Ever  blame 
bit  his  fault  'n  he  knows — knows — knows- 
it-dam-well.  He "  —  Jim's  head  sunk 
on  his  arm,  and  Juror  Number  Seven  si 
lently  withdrew. 

On  his  way  out  he  held  a  brief  conver 
sation  with  the  proprietor  of  the  place,  and 
transferred  certain  valuables  to  his  hands. 


60         Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

"Put  him  to  bed.  Don't  let  him  leave 
on  any  account  until  I  come  for  him,"  he 
said,  and  was  gone. 

But  Juror  Number  Seven  discovered  that 
certain  hinges  of  the  machinery  of  the  courts 
were  not  so  well  oiled  as  others,  and  that 
it  was  a  good  deal  more  difficult  to  secure 
the  arrest  and  indictment  of  Superintendent 
Sidney  Hart  than  he  had  expected. 

It  had  taken  no  great  labor,  it  is  true, 
to  secure  the  arrest  and  detention  of  the 
old  fireman,  who  had  been  reported  dead 
and  had  now  turned  up  so  unexpectedly. 
No  charge  had  been  lodged  against  him, 
but  he  was  simply  held  as  a  witness.  But 
a  witness  for  what  ?  A  witness  against 
whom  ?  The  few  people  who  knew  any 
thing  of  it  smiled  over  the  vagaries  of 
Juror  Number  Seven,  and  wondered  if  he 
supposed  the  courts  were  going  to  try  a 
paralytic  imbecile  for  homicide.  They  grew 
merry  over  the  idea,  and  wondered  how  old 
Jim  would  be,  before  the  case  came  on. 


Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last  Run.         61 

They  said  that  Juror  Number  Seven  had 
never  been  on  a  jury  before,  and  that  he 
felt  piqued  that  the  case  broke  down.  He 
wanted  to  scare  up  some  reason  to  go  on 
with  it  again.  They  scouted  his  assertion 
that  there  was  new  evidence,  and  another 
witness.  No  new  evidence  was  needed. 
Another  witness  was  superfluous.  The  en 
gineer  had  confessed,  and  then  he  had  pro 
ceeded  to  put  himself  beyond  the  pale  of 
the  law  by  becoming  actually  and  hopelessly 
demented  in  court.  It  might  be  charitable 
to  infer  that  he  had  been  touched  a  little 
with  dementia  before  the  accident,  and  had 
not  simply  fallen  asleep  at  his  post,  as  he 
had  confessed ;  but  that  a  short  interval  of 
mental  alienation  may  have  overtaken  him 
then.  This  idea  had  been  suggested  by 
Superintendent  Hart  as  the  kindest  and  most 
plausible,  and  had  been  generally  accepted. 
The  newspapers  had  commented  upon  it, 
and  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  many 
a  traveler  by  intimating  that  such  a  calam- 


62          Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

ity  was  likely  to  overtake  any  engineer  at 
any  moment,  and  that  no  human  precaution 
on  the  part  of  railroad  officials  could  possi 
bly  avert  the  awful  consequences. 

"Such  dispensations  of  Providence  were 
rare,  thank  God,  but  the  possibility  of  their 
becoming1  more  frequent — owing  to  the  high 
tension  of  the  present  methods  of  life  in 
America" — was  pointed  out,  and  again  the 
public  trembled. 

But  at  last  "the  farce  of  trying  Super 
intendent  Hart  for  the  Hardy's  Station  dis 
aster"  was  brought  about  by  the  persis 
tent  and  heroic  efforts  of  "Crank  Number 
Seven,"  as  he  was  now  called  by  those  who 
followed  his  "  maunderings."  It  was  looked 
upon  as  a  good  deal  of  a  joke  by  every 
one  except  Mr.  Hart  himself,  and  possibly 
by  one  wretched  man  who  stubbornly 
waited  in  the  House  of  Detention.  He  had 
talked  with  Juror  Number  Seven  a  great 
many  times  and  he  had  begged — pleaded 
like  a  child — not  to  be  allowed  to  see  his 


Old   "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         63 

old  superintendent.  But  the  superintend 
ent  had  twice  visited  the  little  hut  on  the 
hill  by  the  car  shops  in  the  distant  state, 
and  "with  true  Christian  charity  and  his 
well-known  magnanimity  he  had  provided 
for  the  family  of  his  misguided  or  ele 
mented  fireman." 

Indeed,  he  had  placed  the  older  children 
at  school,  and  assured  Jim's  tired  old  wife 
that  they  should,  henceforth,  want  for  noth 
ing.  He  gave  her  a  free  pass  and  advised 
her  to  visit  Jim  and  to  tell  him  how  well 
the  road  was  looking  after  his  family,  and 
that  it  had  sent  poor  Old  Safety-Valve 
to  a  first-class  private  asylum,  where  no 
expense  would  be  spared  to  have  every 
comfort  secured  to  him. 

Juror  Number  Seven  found  Jim  sick 
and  sullen  after  this  visit  from  his  wife, 
and  as  it  had  occurred  only  two  days  be 
fore  the  case  was  to  be  called,  and  since 
the  old  wife  was  to  be  present — having  se 
cured  comfortable  quarters  near  the  House 


64          Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run. 

of  Detention — it  was  said  Juror  Number 
Seven  felt  ill  at  ease  and  uncertain  for 
the  first  time. 

If  Jim  would  tell  the  story  on  the  wit 
ness-stand  that  he  told  to  him,  he  would 
be  quite  satisfied.  But  could  Jim  be  relied 
upon  to  do  that?  The  stubborness  of  the 
man  and  his  singular  timidity  at  times 
puzzled  Juror  Number  Seven  sadly,  and  yet 
he  pushed  the  case.  That  pathetic  wreck 
who  had  fallen  at  his  very  feet  on  the 
witness-stand  haunted  him  day  and  night, 
and  Juror  Number  Seven  felt  that  he 
would  deserve  the  same  fate  if  he  did  not 
do  all  in  his  power  to  place  the  case 
before  the  public  in  what  he  conceived 
to  be  its  proper  light. 

III. 

The  day  came.  The  court-room  was 
filled  with  curious  spectators.  The  old  fire 
man  took  the  witness-stand.  The  delay  had 
been  so  long,  the  case  was  so  absurdly 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         65 

weak,  that  public  indignation  and  excite 
ment  had  subsided  into  a  sort  of  droll  in 
terest  in  the  "curious  piece  of  spite-work 
or  mental  aberration  of  the  man  who  was 
professing  to  use  the  drunken  maunderings 
of  a  half-witted  fireman  to  blacken  the  fair 
name  of  one  of  the  first  Christian  railroad 
men  of  the  country." 

The  preliminaries  were  hurried  through. 
The  superintendent  had  seated  himself  by 
the  side  of  Jim's  wife,  who  was  silently 
weeping,  and  it  could  be  plainly  seen  that 
he  was  whispering  words  of  comfort  to 
her.  "He  will  tell  the  truth.  It  will  be 
all  right,"  he  said  to  her  aloud,  and  Jim 
had  heard,  and  hearing,  trembled. 

"For  your  sake  and  the  children's — not 
for  mine — he  will  come  out  like  a  man,  I 
know,  and  the  case  will  be  at  rest  forever. 
I  have  sent  for  all  the  children.  They  are 
to  be  here  in  a  moment.  The  sight  of  them 
in  their  new  clothes  and  happier  faces 
will  bring  Jim  to  his  better  self.  I" 


66          Old  "Safety -Valve's"    Last   Run. 

The  door  behind  the  judge  opened,  and 
and  eight  children,  neat,  tidy,  and  well-fed, 
came  into  the  room  with  awe  and  curi 
osity  on  their  faces.  They  saw  their  father's 
face  first.  It  had  been  long  weeks  since 
they  had  seen  him,  and  eight  pairs  of  arms 
were  about  him,  eight  pairs  of  lips  sought 
his,  eight  young  voices  said,  "Papa!  oh, 
papa!"  before  silence  and  order  had  been 
restored. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  prove?"  the 
judge  inquired  of  Juror  Number  Seven, 
when  the  case  was  resumed.  "What  do 
you  propose  to  prove  by  this  witness?" 

"Your  Honor,  I  propose  to  prove  that 
the  entire  blame  rests  upon  Superintend 
ent  Hart;  that  the  engineer  protested 
earnestly,  and  almost  with  tears,  against  go 
ing  out  that  night  on  No.  42.  He  had 
been  on  duty,  without  sleep,  for  twenty-seven 
hours.  The  superintendent  knew  this.  He 
knew  the  faithful  services  of  this  man  for 
fifteen  years,  and  yet  he  threatened  him 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         67 

with  instant  dismissal  if  he  did  not  take 
out  that  train.  No  one  heard  it  except 
this  fireman  and  the  wretched  wreck  of 
humanity  up  there  in  the  asylum,  whose 
nerves  and  brain  gave  way  under  the  long 
strain  and  the  awful  result.  I  propose  to 
prove  that  Sidney  Hart  and  Sidney  Hart 
alone,  was  guilty,  not  only  of  the  murder  of 
the  people  who  perished  in  that  awful 
disaster,  but  that  he  is  also  guilty  of  the 
murder  of  the  brave  engineer  who — worse 
than  dead — who  "- 

"  I  object ! "  exclaimed  the  defendant's 
lawyer,  and  Sidney  Hart  looked  steadily  at 
the  wretched  face  of  Jim.  Then  he  reached 
out  a  hand  and  drew  the  youngest  child 
of  the  witness  up  on  to  his  knee  and 
stroked  her  sunny  hair.  Her  hair  had  never 
looked  so  lovely  to  Jim,  for  he  had  never 
before  seen  her  so  well  dressed  ,  and  so 
round  and  rosy.  His  eyes  filled  with  a  mist 
and  he  hung  his  head. 

"  Your    Honor,   it   is   all  a  lie,"  he    said, 


68          Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run. 
hoarsely ;  "  I   was   drunk  when  I   told   him, 

T   "  _, 

"  What !  "  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  as 
tonished  ex-juror.  "  What !  Why,  you  have 
told  me  fifty  times  since.  You  wept  like  a 
child  only  three  days  ago,  and  " — 

A  titter  ran  through  the  room.  The 
bailiff  rapped  for  order.  Jim's  little  girl 
was  holding  the  superintendent's  shining 
gold  watch  to  her  ear  and  delightedly 
counting  the  ticks  with  silently  moving  lips 
and  sparkling  eyes. 

Jim  looked  at  her  again,  and  then  at 
his  wife  in  her  pretty  new  gown. 

"  I  was  foolin',"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  never 
heard  the  superintendent  tell  him  nothin'." 

"  And   you   did   not   know    that   the   en 
gineer,  your   friend,  was  forced   to   stay   on 
duty    twenty-seven    hours    at   a   stretch  ? " 
asked   Juror   Number  Seven. 

"  No !  " 

"You   don't    know   that   he   was   threat- 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.         69 

ened — if  he  didn't  take  that  train  out  in 
spite  of  his  protests — with  dismissal  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  wretched  man,  with  eyes 
on  the  floor. 

"  I  ask  that  this  case  be  dismissed  and 
the  indictment  quashed,"  exclaimed  the  law 
yer  for  the  defense.  "  The  whole  proceeding 
is  an  insult  to  the  dignity  of  the  court. 
There  is  not  and  there  never  has  been  any 
case." 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  the  motion  of  the 
counsel  for  the  defense  should  not  be  sus 
tained,"  said  the  judge,  slowly.  "  The  case 
is  dismissed.  The  jury  is  discharged." 
There  was  a  wave  of  laughter  in  the  room 
and  a  great  shuffling  of  feet. 

"  Flattest  fizzle  I  ever  saw,"  remarked 
one  man,  as  he  left  the  room. 

"But,  my  goodness,  wasn't  the  superin 
tendent  good  to  him  and  them  young  uns 
when  he  thought  all  the  time  that  Jim 
was  goin'  to  swear  against  him!  What  a 
man  ! " 


70          Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run. 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to  put  my  John  into  his 
Sunday  school  clast  right  off,"  remarked  an 
admiring  mother,  as  she  pinned  her  bonnet 
strings.  "  He's  got  a  clast  at  the  mission 
school,  but  I  always  thought  he  was  too 
proud  for  us;  but  jest  look  how  he  helt 
that  baby  an'  its  pa  lyin'  agin'  him  all 
along ! " 

"  I  thought  your  better  nature  would 
assert  itself,  Jim,  when  the  test  came,"  said 
Superintendent  Hart,  shaking  Jim's  hand 
warmly,  as  the  children  clung  about  him 
and  his  wife  dried  her  eyes.  "  You  ought 
to  be  proud  of  your  father,  little  ones,"  he 
added,  taking  his  watch  from  the  baby's 
hand  and  replacing  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Proud  of  the  devil ! "  muttered  Jim 
between  his  teeth,  and  the  look  in  his  eye 
was  not  pleasant  to  the  superintendent. 
But  notwithstanding  that  fact  Superintend 
ent  Hart  handed  Jim's  wife  a  roll  of  bills, 
with  the  remark  that  her  husband  had  been 
off  duty  so  long  that  she  would  no  doubt 


Old  "Safety-Valves"    Last   Run.          71 

need  this  and  more  for  the  children.  He 
looked  straight  at  Jim  and  Jim  dropped  his 
eyes,  "  for  shame  because  of  such  generous 
treatment  by  the  man  he  had  caused  so 
much  trouble" — as  the  report  said.  "You 
can  go  back  to  your  engine  to-morrow," 
added  Mr.  Hart,  softly.  "  I  can  hold  no  ill- 
feeling  toward  you,  but  you  must  give  up 
liquor,  Jim,  or  your  family — these  fine  chil 
dren — will  be  ashamed  of  you.  They  "- 

Jim  raised  his  eyes,  and  Mr.  Hart  ceased 
speaking.  He  waited  to  see  Jim  and  his 
family  well  on  their  way  home,  and  then 
he  drove  to  his  office,  smiling  and  content 
with  the  world.  He  knew  quite  well  what 
the  outcome  would  be.  He  was  a  student 
of  human  nature,  in  a  quiet  way.  Jim 
would  feel  depressed,  bitter,  discontented 
with  himself  for  a  while,  and  then  the  feel 
ing  would  gradually  die  out.  Only  heroes 
fight  systems  for  a  principle,  and  poor  old 
Jim  was  not  a  hero.  He  was  only  a  very 
ordinary  man,  who  had  been  cast  in  the 


72         Old  "Safety-Valve's"   Last  Run. 

usual  mould — the  mould  that  is  shaped  by 
environment.  An  honest  man  ?  Yes,  if 
temptation  were  not  too  strong — if  burdens 
were  not  too  heavy.  Loyal  to  his  friends? 
Yes,  so  long  as  he  might  see  results 
that  touched  those  friends — and  who  were 
Jim's  friends  just  now?  His  wife  and  chil 
dren,  surely,  and  to  be  loyal  to  them  Jim 
could  not  afford  to  think  too  closely  about 
causes  and  effects.  Great  love,  encompassed 
by  ignorance  and  many  children,  may  be 
trusted  to  keep  the  twig  of  thought  and  the 
back  of  poverty  bent  to  receive  the  bur 
den  devised  for  it.  Jim  would  grind  his 
teeth  sometimes,  and  a  flash  of  half-formed 
thought  would  struggle  in  his  brain  for 
sequence  and  for  justification ;  but  it  would 
die  out  before  it  reached  a  definite  conclu 
sion.  He  would  never  trouble  Sidney  Hart 
again.  He  would  simply  shovel  coal  into 
his  engine,  eat  what  he  could  get,  sleep 
when  given  permission,  and  drink  a  little 
now  and  then  to  stimulate  his  flagging  en- 


Old  "Safety-Valve's"    Last   Run.         73 

ergies  or  to  farther  deaden  insistent  germs 
of  thought.  He  would  die  a  natural  death  or 
be  killed  on  his  engine  before  many  years, 
and  nothing  further  would  come  of  his  one 
pitiful  little  struggle.  Another  fireman 
would  take  his  place,  and  that  would  be 
the  end  of  the  matter.  Superintendent  Hart 
smiled  with  a  return  of  his  old  cheerfulness ; 
for  he  once  more  felt  perfectly  secure,  and 
feeling  secure  he  also  felt  entirely  virtuous. 
"It  would  be  simply  maddening  to  be  under 
anybody's  thumb,"  he  thought,  "  even  if  that 
thumb  belonged  to  so  powerless  and  vague 
a  creature  as  Jim  Blanchard.  Thank  God, 
I  wasn't  born  to  be  patient  under  adverse 
skies.  I've  got  to  hold  the  reins  and  do 
the  driving  for  myself — and  the  horse  has 
got  to  go  my  way,"  he  added,  as  he  locked 
his  safe  for  the  night;  "  or  I'll  break  his 
neck."  Whether  Superintendent  Hart  was 
thinking  of  Jim  as  the  horse  or  whether  he 
meant  something  far  more  general  and  im 
personal  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  Cer- 


74         Old  "Safety-Valves"   Last   Run. 

tain  it  was,  that  the  schedule  paper  of 
time-table  records  he  had  replaced  in  the 
desk  had  one  less  figure  on  it  than  when 
he  had  taken  it  out.  According  to  that  re 
cord — which  was,  surely,  enough  for  all 
future  contingencies,  Poor  Old  Safety-Valve 
had  been  on  his  engine  only  seven  hours — 
and  he  went  to  sleep  at  his  post.  It  was 
truly  a  sad  case,  and  he  had  paid  heavy 
price  for  his  fault,  and  the  superintendent 
sighed  and  drove  home  to  dinner. 


HOW   MARY    ALICE   WAS 
CONVERTED. 


"In  evil  long  I  took  delight, 

Unawed  by  shame  or  fear; 
Till  a  new  object  struck  my  sight, 

And  stopped  my  wild  career." 

NEWTON'S  HYMN. 

"Lord,  I  am  vile,  conceived  in  sin, 
And  born  unholy  and  unclean, 

Sprung  from  the  man  whose  guilty  fall 
Corrupts  the  race,  and  taints  us  all." 

HYMN. 

"If  there  is  an  angel  who  records  the  sorrows  of 
men  as  well  as  their  sins,  he  knows  how  many  and 
deep  are  the  sorrows  that  spring  from  false  ideas 
for  which  no  man  is  culpable." 

GEO.  ELIOT. 

"I  do  not  find  the  religions  of  men  at  this 
moment  very  creditable  to  them,  but  either  childish 
and  insignificant,  or  unmanly  and  effeminating." 

EMERSON. 


HOW    MARY    ALICE   WAS 
CONVERTED. 

\  AT^HEM  tbe  usual  winter  -revivals" 
began  in  Greenville,  the  various 
denominations  decided  to  combine  in  the 
atfarlr  upon  Satan,  and  *r»fl5S  their  forces  in 
the  Methodist  church,  They  were  to  divide 
the  spoils,  so  to  speak,  afterward. 

This  seemingly  innocent  arrangement 
looked  perfectly  fair  to  the  general  public 
and  to  sinners  at  large,  but  the  Baptist  and 
other  clergymen  shook  their  heads  in  private 
and  showed  a  marked  disrelish  for,  although 
they  consented  to,  the  pooling  system.  They 
had  had  experience  before.  It  may  not  be 
easy  to  believe;  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  a  fact 
that,  having  been  wrought  to  a  state  of  re 
ligions  exaltation  or  frenzy  in  a  given  church, 
it  is  within  those  same  walls  that  the  convert 


8o         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

tends  to  cast  his  lot  thereafter,  and  while  a 
few  go  with  their  friends,  back  to  the  church 
to  which  they  are  accustomed,  the  many 
cling  to  the  one  where  Satan  was  put  to 
flight  after  a  vigorous  struggle  and  charge 
all  along  the  line. 

The  decision  to  mass  forces  at  the  Meth 
odist  church  had  come  only  after  a  disastrous 
attempt  to  conduct  (the  previous  year)  three 
revivals  in  the  town  at  the  same  time.  The 
opinion  of  the  public  had  become  so  divided 
as  to  the  relative  "power  of  the  Spirit"  at  the 
three  places  that  the  discussion  of  the  real 
subjects  at  issue  were  lost  sight  of. 

The  ungodly  had  hinted  that  the  visiting 
"boy  preachers"  and  local  clergymen  were 
spending  more  thought  on  trying  to  beat  the 
number  of  converts  at  the  other  meetings 
than  on  anything  else.  They  scoffingly  as 
serted  that  the  night  after  the  Baptists 
announced  forty-two  souls  saved  the  rival 
clergyman  (Methodist)  had  boldly  claimed 
fifty-one  as  his  harvest  up  to  that  time.  The 


How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted.          81 

weight  of  evidence  appeared  to  be  on  the 
Methodist  side,  and  certainly  the  volume  of 
sound  was  there ;  albeit  the  ungodly  hinted 
that  certain  of  the  noisiest  converts  were 
"  stock,"  as  it  were,  and  had  been  saved  each 
winter  with  the  utmost  regularity  for  many 
years  past. 

Hints  of  this  nature  were  so  frequently 
thrown  out  that  it  became  evident  that  some 
thing  had  to  be  done.  So  when  Brother 
Salter  announced  that  the  following  Sunday 
he  would  open  the  revival  at  his  church,  by 
a  sermon  on  "The  Lamb's  Book  of  Life,"  he 
created  quite  a  stir  in  the  congregation  by 
adding  that  since  conferring  together  the 
various  clergymen  had  decided  to  forego 
revivals  in  their  own  churches,  and  would 
request  their  own  congregations,  and  all 
sinners  more  or  less  closely  allied  thereto, 
to  repair  nightly  to  the  Methodist  church 
where  all  the  preachers  would  be  for  the 
next  three  or  four  weeks,  or  as  long  as  the 


82         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

power  of  the  Lord  was  manifest  in  their 
midst. 

Brother  Salter  spoke  as  if  the  "power  of 
the  Lord"  traveled  about  from  place  to 
place,  with  all  its  belongings  in  a  valise,  and 
tarried  here  or  there  according  as  invitations 
were  pressing. 

He  exhorted  his  flock  to  welcome  and 
detain,  as  long  as  might  be,  this  Power,  and 
it  was  hinted  by  the  bald-headed  old  scoffer 
in  the  choir  that  he  had  clearly  intimated 
that  he  meant  to  give  his  clerical  rivals  a 
point  or  two  that  might  hereafter  result  in 
more  additions  to  their  own  flocks  and  a 
greater  number  of  brands  plucked  from  the 
burning,  if  they  but  followed  his  example. 

But  all  this  was  merely  the  prelude  to 
the  revival  which  almost  swept  the  town 
of  sinners  of  mature  years,  and  left  only 
the  hopelessly  skeptical  or  the  palpably  too 
callow  for  the  brethren  to  work  upon.  Each 
denomination  disliked  to  be  outdone  by  a 
rival,  therefore  pastoral  visits  were  made, 


How  Mary  Alice  -was  Converted.         83 

and  deacons  and  "mothers  in  Israel"  urged 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  who  had  ever 
attended  their  own  meetings  to  go  to  the 
great  combination  revival  the  following 
week,  as  it  was  to  be  the  last,  and  a  special 
effort  was  to  be  made  to  very  greatly  in 
crease  the  number  of  converts,  so  that  there 
might  be  a  fair  division  afterward,  when 
they  were  formally  taken  into  the  various 
churches. 

Mary  Alice  and  her  friend  Isabel  were 
the  only  two  lambs  belonging  to  one  of 
the  Sabbath-school  classes,  who  had  not, 
previous  to  this  last  week,  gone  up  for 
prayers,  and  after  weeping  and  praying  and 
wrestling  with  the  Lord  night  after  night 
announced  themselves  saved,  and  been  made 
objects  of  great  rejoicing  forthwith. 

The  "mourners'  bench  "  was  so  crowded 
by  wretched  "  seekers "  wedged  in  between 
men  and  women  who  knelt  beside  them  to 
talk  with,  pray  over,  and  weep  for  them, 
that  it  was  no  unusual  thing  to  see  one  of 


84         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

the  elders  or  deacons -give  a  sort  of  flying 
leap  in  order  to  get  past  one  group  and  to 
another. 

The  church  was  filled  with  groans  and 
the  sound  of  weeping.  "Amen!"  "Praise  the 
Lord!"  "Come  down  now,  dear  Lord!" 
"Bless  his  holy  name!"  and  many  such 
other  ejaculations,  were  so  mingled  with 
sobs  and  groans,  and  cries  of  "  Save  me ! " 
"Save  me!"  "I'm  lost!  lost!  lost!"  that  the 
nerves  of  a  stronger  person  than  poor  little 
Mary  Alice  might  well  have  been  unstrung 
by  the  prevailing  excitement.  The  child  be 
came  terrified.  She  had  not  been  allowed 
to  attend  such  a  meeting  before;  but  her 
mother,  a  timid  woman,  had  been  wrestled 
with  that  day,  and  half  convinced  that  she 
might  really  be  standing  between  the  child 
and  some  possible  good  for  the  future.  She 
had,  therefore,  allowed  her  to  go  with  her 
friend  Isabel  and  an  older  sister. 

Groans,  cries,  shouts,  prayers,  and  exhor- 
tations  were  inextricably  mingled  in  the 


How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted.         85 

group  about  the  mourners'  bench.  One 
preacher  was  crying  out,  "  Thank  God,  an 
other  sinner  saved ! "  "  Plucked  from  the 
burning !  Escaped  from  hell-fire !  "  While 
other  despairing  souls  that  failed  to  feel 
that  thrill  of  nerve  and  sense  that  follows 
on  excitement  and  overwrought  nature,  felt 
themselves  abandoned,  indeed,  of  the  Lord, 
since  this  was  their  third  or  fourth  or  even 
tenth  night  at  the  "altar,"  and  still  they 
were  conscious  of  no  change. 

Each  exultant  cry  of  conversion  filled 
them  with  new  terror.  It  numbed  sense  and 
paralyzed  hope.  "Is  my  name  written  in 
the  Lamb's  book  of  life?  Ask  that  ques 
tion,  sinner ;  ask  now ! "  shouted  one  exhorter 
above  the  noise  and  tumult.  "I  must  know 
now !  Now,  Lord !  " 

"Is    mine    there?"   "Look,   Lord,   look!" 
shouted  others. 

The  idea  swept  like  a  fire  across  the  sur 
charged  nerves  of  the  congregation  wedged 
tightly  together,  in  air  so  vile  and  close  that 


86         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

hysteria  was  superinduced  as  an  inevitable 
consequence. 

"Is  mine?"  "And  mine?"  "Is  mine, 
Lord?"  "O  God,  look,  look!"  shouted  one 
old  clergyman.  "Make  me  sure  Lord;  quiet 
my  soul !  Look,  Lord,  look  in  the  Gi's !  " 

The  old  man's  name  was  Gifford,  and  in 
spite  of  the  air,  the  tumult,  the  religious 
frenzy,  in  spite  of  all,  there  was  a  smile 
which  was  almost  an  audible  flutter  as  it 
passed  over  the  congregation.  Some  one 
saw  how  fatal  this  would  be,  and  struck  in, 
"  Come,  ye  sinners,  poor  and  needy,  weak  and 
wounded,  sick  and  sore."  The  old  hymn 
caught  the  nerves  of  the  vast  body,  and 
the  volume  of  sound  that  swelled  on  the 
vibrant  atmosphere  almost  drowned  the 
groans  and  shouts  of  the  newly-converted  or 
still  wretched  "seekers."  Mary  Alice  and 
Isabel  stood  pale  and  trembling,  too  young 
to  have  been  subject  to  the  slight  touch  of 
comedy  which  had  almost  broken  in  upon 
the  solemnity  of  the  occasion. 


How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted.         87 

Just  then  one  of  the  clergymen,  a  tall, 
thin,  dark,  and  terrible  looking  man  came 
slowly  down  the  isle  to  where  they  stood, 
wide  eyed  and  trembling.  He  bent  over 
the  two  children,  took  both  their  small, 
trembling  hands  in  his,  and  asked  solemnly, 
"  Do  you  want  to  go  to  hell  ?  " 

The  poor,  trembling  little  wretches  dis 
claimed  as  well  as  they  could  any  such  de 
sire,  with  the  tears  fast  coming  to  their 
eyes  and  their  little  throats  dry  and  stiff. 

"All  of  your  Sabbath-school  class  are 
saved.  Only  you  two  repel  the  Lord.  Only 
you  two  grieve  his  holy  spirit.  Do  you 
think  he  will  forget  you?  He  is  looking  at 
you  now,  now  I"  and  his  explosive  voice 
made  Mary  Alice  almost  jump  out  of  her 
small  boots,  while  Isabel  fell  to  weeping 
bitterly. 

"He  is  touching  your  wicked  heart  at 
last,"  said  he,  addressing  Isabel.  "  Come 
while  there  is  yet  time.  Come!  come!  come! 


88         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

The  gate  of  hell  yawns  for  you.  This  may 
be  your  last  chance,  come!" 

Both  children  were  now  in  floods  of 
tears  and  wholly  unable  to  think  at  all, 
while  he  half  led,  half  carried  them  forward 
to  the  "  mourners'  bench "  (now  somewhat 
thinned  out)  amid  the  applause  and  gratu- 
lations  of  the  entire  congregation.  The 
children  were  at  once  made  the  subject  of 
a  long  and  loud  and  orally  punctuated 
prayer  by  Brother  Gifford,  who,  all  uncon 
scious  of  how  perilously  near  he  had  brought 
the  tense  nerves  of  the  congregation  to 
laughter,  now  wrestled  with  the  Lord  in 
supplication  that  he  might  give  these  two 
"precious  lambs  one  more  chance  to  flee 
from  the  wrath  to  come— that  they  might 
cease  to  do  evil  and  learn  to  do  well  from 
this  time  forth,  even  forever  more." 

But  the  moment  they  had  found  them 
selves  freed  from  the  terrible  face  and 
voice  of  the  dark  clergyman,  who  had  made 
personal  inquiries  as  to  their  desire  in  re- 


How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted.         89 

gard  to  a  future  abode,  their  healthy  young 
nerves  reacted  and  the  strangeness  of  the 
situation  so  distracted  their  attention  that 
they  straightway  forgot  to  weep. 

But  presently  Isabel  fell  to  again  and 
wept  as  though  her  poor  little  heart  would 
break.  Thereupon  Mary  Alice's  sympathetic 
soul  joined  in  the  lachrymose  agony,  and 
the  brethren,  feeling  that  both  were  truly 
"under  conviction"  and  fairly  on  the  road 
to  salvation,  left  the  two  small  sinners  alone 
while  they  wrestled  with  older  and  less 
sensitive  culprits. 

By  and  by  their  sobs  ceased,  their  tired 
little  eyes  closed;  both  children  slept  peace 
fully,  kneeling  there  at  the  "throne  of 
grace,"  with  their  curly  heads  resting  on 
their  diminutive  arms,  and  they  on  the 
velvet-cushioned  railing. 

At  last  all  of  the  other  seekers  were  as 
sisted  to  their  feet,  but  these  two  knelt  on. 
"Praise  the  Lord!  Thank  his  holy  name!" 


90         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

said   the   dark    clergyman,   fervently.      "At 
last!     At  last!" 

He  felt  that  these  two  had  been  hard 
to  reach,  but  now  their  "  conviction "  was 
deep  and  sure.  He  bent  down  between 
them,  and  the  first  words  of  his  dreaded 
voice  awoke  the  two  children,  who  sprang 
to  their  feet,  forgetting  how  or  why  they 
were  there.  They  both  essayed  to  smile  in 
a  polite  and  propitiatory  way. 

"Has  light  come?   Do  you  feel  at  peace 
with  God?"   inquired   the   dark    clergyman, 
mistaking  the  smiles   for   converted  bliss. 
"Yes,  sir,"  said  they,  and  smiled  again. 

Then  there  was  much  rejoicing  and 
hand-shaking,  and  it  was  announced  that 
two  more  vile  sinners  had  found  Christ. 
The  children  felt  that  some  way  they  had 
done  a  very  good  thing,  indeed,  and  began 
to  experience  that  sense  of  elation  which 
praise  from  their  elders  is  sure  to  produce 
in  a  sensitive  child.  Their  little  faces  were 
radiant.  Many  shook  their  hands,  kissed 


How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted.         91 

them,  and  otherwise  showed  their  approval 
of  the  new  course  they  had  adopted.  "All 
Hail  the  Power  of  Jesus'  Name "  was  sung 
lustily,  in  which  the  two  little  voices  piped 
up,  and  were  much  commended  therefor. 

The  next  day,  Isabel  and  Mary  Alice 
were  of  opinion  that  they  ought  to  feel 
very  different  from  their  old,  wicked  selves; 
but  somehow  they  were  unable  to  be  quite 
sure  that  they  did.  They  thought  that  they 
should  have  lost  all  taste  for  play,  and  were 
shocked  that  dolls  and  "hide'n  coop"  still 
had  attractions  for  them.  This  they  set 
down  as  a  snare  for  their  feet,  laid  by  Satan 
himself,  who  they  had  no  doubt  was  on 
their  track  at  that  very  moment.  They  con 
cluded  it  would  be  safest  to  sit  down  with 
their  backs  against  the  doll  house — as  he 
could  not  then  come  up  suddenly  behind 
them — and  they  could  better  give  their 
minds  to  thoughts  of  the  next  world. 

"Wasn't  it  beautiful  last  night?"  said 
Mary  Alice,  with  a  distinct  shiver. 


92         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

"Mm,"  non-committally,  from  Isabel. 

"Do  you  think  God's  as  glad  as  they 
said, 'cause  we  aren't  going  to  hell  now?" 

"  Of  course  he  is  !     How  you  talk ! " 

Mary  Alice  felt  crushed ;  but  by  and  by 
she  recovered,  and  asked  quite  seriously, 
"What  did  you  cry  about  last  night,  after 
he  stopped  talking  to  us,  I  mean,  up  at  the 
mourner's  bench?" 

"I  couldn't  think  of  anything  to  cry  for 
at  first,"  confessed  Isabel,  "but  afterward  I 
thought  of  poor,  dear  little  Nellie  at  home, 
and  then  I  just  had  to  cry.  I  always  do. 
What  did  you?" 

"Cause  you  did.  I  always  have  to  if 
anybody  else  does,"  Mary  Alice  replied 
quite  simply.  There  was  a  pause.  Then  she 
asked  in  an  awestricken  tone. 

"Do  you  suppose  our  religion's  good  if 
we  got  it  that  way?  You  bein'  sorry  'cause 
you  had  a  idiot  sister  at  home  and  me  bein' 
sorry  'cause  you  was  sorry  'cause  you  had  a 
idiot  sister  ?  " 


Hozv  Mary  Alice  was  Converted.         93 

"I  don't  see  how  anybody  could  have 
anything  worse  to  cry  about  than  that"  re 
plied  Isabel,  hotly.  "My  mother  says  it  is 
the  sorriest  thing  in  the  world,  and  besides, 
she  cries  about  it,  and  I  guess  she  knows 
what's  good  to  cry  about." 

"Is  that  what  she  cried  about  when  she 
got  religion?"  inquired  the  persistent  Mary 
Alice. 

"I  don't  know.  Guess  so,"  responded 
Isabel,  with  disapproving  composure. 

"Le's  ask  her,  and" — began  Mary  Alice; 
but  Isabel  broke  in : 

"Well,  you  can  if  you're  a  mind  to,  I 
shan't.  I've  got  my  religion  now.  The 
preacher  said  so,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  join  the 
church  next  Sunday  and  get  it  over.  Then 
I  guess  ole  Satan'll  let  me  alone.  He  don't 
know  I  was  cryin'  about  Nellie." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mary  Alice,  much  re 
lieved  by  the  suggestion,  and  so  it  came 
about  that  the  following  Sunday  they  were 
"taken  in  on  probation,"  with  the  promise 


94         How  Mary  Alice  was  Converted. 

of  full  membership  in  six  months  if  they 
did  not  backslide  in  that  time.  Neither 
small  maid  being  detected  during  the  six 
months  which  followed,  in  any  criminal  acts 
they  were  accepted  as  "full  members  in 
good  and  regular  standing" — converted 
thereto  through  the  influences  of  an  idiot 
in  the  family  and  a  fanatic  in  the  church. 


A  HALL  OF  HEREDITY. 


"  How  shall  a  man  escape  from  his  ancestors  ?   .    .    . 

"Men  are  what  their  mothers  made  them.  You 
may  as  well  ask  a  loom  which  weaves  huckaback,  why 
it  does  not  make  cashmere,  as  expect  poetry  from 
this  engineer,  or  chemical  discovery  from  that  jobber. 
Ask  the  digger  in  the  ditch  to  explain  Newton's  laws; 
the  fine  organs  of  his  brain  have  been  pinched  by 
overwork  and  squalid  poverty  from  father  to  son,  for 
hundreds  of  years.  When  each  comes  forth  from  his 
mother's  womb,  the  gate  of  gifts  closes  behind  him. 
Let  him  value  his  hands  and  feet,  he  has  but  one 
pair.  So  he  has  but  one  future,  and  -that  is  already 
predetermined  in  his  lobes,  and  described  in  that  little 
fatty  face,  pig-eye,  and  squat  form.  All  the  privileges 
and  all  the  legislation  in  the  world  cannot  meddle 
or  help  to  make  a  poet  or  a  prince  of  him." 

EMERSON. 

"Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased." 

SHAKESPEARE. 


A   HALL   OF   HEREDITY. 

the  three  children  born  to  George  and 
Katherine  Hinsdale,  the  most  promis 
ing  by  far  was  Oswald,  the  youngest  son. 
Congratulations  upon  his  ability  as  well  as 
upon  his  finely  shaped  head  and  handsome 
features  had  become  so  familiar  to  his 
parents — and  indeed  to  the  boy  himself— 
that  they  were  looked  upon  as  quite  a 
matter  of  course  by  the  time  he  was  a  lad 
ready  to  enter  the  High  School. 

The  other  children  envied  him  the  ease 
with  which  he  mastered  his  lessons  and 
many  were  the  prophecies  as  to  his  future 
career. 

No  one  doubted  that  he  would  be  a 
great  man.  No  one  questioned  his  ability 
to  shine  in  any  walk  of  life  that  he  might 
choose,  and  his  parents  looked  upon  him 


too  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

as  sure  to  be  the  prop  and  stay  of  their 
declining  years.  If  the  other  children  got 
into  trouble,  Oswald  was  ready  and  able  to 
-devise  a  plan  to  extricate  them.  He  had 
tact — that  rarest  of  gifts  in  a  boy.  If  his 
older  brother  undertook  anything  and  found 
himself  stranded  midway,  he  would  laugh 
ingly  call  Oswald  to  help  him  out. 

"  Here,  Osie,  I'm  stuck.  This  thing  won't 
work  at  all.  Fix  it  for  me,  won't  you?" 

It  was  the  same  confident  cry  whether 
the  difficulty  were  with  the  wheels  of  a 
mechanical  toy  in  process  of  construction, 
the  solving  of  a  mathematical  problem  or 
the  adjustment  of  a  refractory  necktie.  No 
one  doubted  that  the  moment  Oswald 
touched  it,  it  would  fall  gracefully  into 
place  and  give  no  farther  trouble. 

"  Well,  Os,  how  did  you  know  that  the 
wheel  had  to  go  on  that  way ! "  his 
brother  exclaimed  one  day,  as  he  saw  the 
boy  go  to  his  father's  assistance  in  bring- 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  101 

ing  to  terms  an  eight-day  clock  that  had 
refused  to  strike. 

Oswald  laughed.  He  had  never  in  his 
life  seen  the  inside  of  such  a  machine  be 
fore,  but  he  had  corrected  his  father's  blun 
der  instantly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  how  I  knew  it,  Ned," 
he  replied  indifferently.  "  Just  did,  that's  all. 
I  don't  see  how  it  could  help  being  that 
way.  Seems  awfully  funny  that  father  did 
not  see  it.  Say,  Ned,  let's  go  see  that 
sleight-of-hand  fellow  after  school.  I've  an 
idea  I  can  do  his  tricks  myself." 

It  was  Hermann,  the  famous  prestidig- 
itateur,  of  whom  he  spoke,  and  both  Ned 
and  his  father  laughed  a  little  at  the  lad's 
self-confidence. 

« I  guess  not,  my  boy,"  smiled  his  father. 
"I  think  you  will  find  more  than  your 
match  there;  but  you  may  go  if  you  want 
to.  It  will  give  your  wits  a  shaking  up  to 
try  to  catch  the  way  he  does  his  tricks, 
I  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  you  a 


IO2  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

quarter  for  every  one  of  his  illusions  that 
you  can  reproduce  for  your  mother  and  me 
to-night." 

"  'Nuf  said !  Hurrah !  "  shouted  the  de 
lighted  boy  as  he  turned  a  hand-spring  out 
of  the  door.  The  result  of  that  stipulation 
cost  Mr.  Hinsdale  exactly  $4.25,  for  the  lad 
actually  did  reproduce  seventeen  of  the 
master's  clever  illusions ! 

"Take  it  as  a  warning,  father,"  laughed 
Ned.  "  You  might  have  known  he 
could  do  it.  I  watched  with  all  my  might, 
but  I  couldn't  get  onto  one  of  them.  Os  is 
a  witch.  I  can  see  it  in  his  off  eye,"  he  said 
making  a  pass  at  his  brother's  left  eye 
in  mock  heroic  style.  There  was  just  the 
slightest  hint  of  an  inward  cast  in  Oswald's 
left  eye.  The  faintest  suggestion  of  a  dif 
ferent  angle  of  vision  from  that  of  its 
mate. 

As  the  boys  grew  older,  very  little  at 
tention  was  given  to  the  selection  of  a 
suitable  career  for  Oswald.  That  was  ex- 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  103 

pected  to  work  itself  out.  But  with  the 
other  two  children  it  was  different.  They 
must  be  looked  after.  Their  skill  and  ability 
were  both  too  weak  and  too  embryonic  to 
trust  to  chance.  It  was  a  surprise,  there 
fore,  to  find  Ned  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
four  steadily  making  his  way  as  a  rising 
young  business  man  and  to  learn  that  Os 
wald  was  "at  present  helping  his  brother." 

That  was  the  way  it  was  always  stated 
by  his  parents. 

Ned  would  say:  "Oh,  just  now,  Os  is 
keeping  me  straight.  I  don't  know  what 
on  earth  I'd  have  done  about  those  ridicu 
lous  mowing  machines  if  he  hadn't  been 
there  when  we  unpacked  them.  Not  an 
other  soul  of  us  knew  how  to  work  them, 
but  he  took  to  'em  as  if  he  had  been 
born  with  one  in  his  hand.  I'm  actually 
afraid  that  Os  will  invent  some  devilish 
thing  himself  some  day  that  will  give  cold 
chills  to  the  rest  of  us." 

There  was   a   sudden    peculiar    flash  in 


104  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

Oswald's  face.  The  lids  of  his  left  eye 
widened  in  a  strange  way  until  they  ex 
posed  the  entire  iris.  He  compressed  his 
lips,  and  then,  as  he  strode  angrily  out  of 
the  room,  flung  back  over  his  shoulder: 

"  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  about  me ! 
I  understand  it  and  I  did  at  the  time. 
You  all  knew  perfectly  well  how  to  manage 
those  machines.  I'm  not  a  fool!" 

The  family  sat  aghast.  It  was  not  like 
Oswald.  Each  looked  to  the  other  for  light. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  brother, 
Ned?"  asked  Mr.  Hinsdale. 

"  Hanged  if  I  know.  That's  a  new  one 
on  me.  I  guess  he  thinks  I've  been  prying 
into  his  work-room  down  at  the  store  and 
have  made  a  guess  at  his  latest  fad.  But 
I  haven't.  I  know  he  has  stayed  up  there 
alone  a  good  deal  lately;  but  I  didn't  sup 
pose  I'd  understand  his  gimcracks  if  I  saw 
them,  so  I've  never  bothered  to  look  He's 
getting  tremendously  touchy  lately,  I" 

"Don't  put  it   that  way,  Ned,"  broke  in 


A  Hall  of  Heredity,  IO$ 

the  restless  little  mother.  "I  think  he  feels 
rather — I  don't  know  but  that  he — Don't 
you  think  it  stings  him  to  be — to  seem 
a — well — sort  of  dependent  on  you?" 

"Dependent  on  me!  Great  Caesar,  mother, 
what  do  you  mean?  Why  Os  can  do  any 
thing.  He" 

The  door  opened  slowly  and  Oswald's 
face  first  appeared  and  then  suddenly  dis 
appeared.  His  mother  left  the  room.  Late 
that  night  she  descended  from  her  son's 
room  and  her  eyes  were  red  from  weeping. 
She  went  softly,  stealthily,  to  the  drawer  of 
her  dressing-case  and  drew  forth  a  small 
leather  case.  Then  she  looked  for  the  tenth 
time,  with  her  habitual  nervous  insecurity 
and  trepidation,  to  be  sure  that  her  husband 
was  asleep,  and  slipped  from  the  room 
again. 

The  next  morning,  Oswald,  who  ap 
peared  to  be  in  an  unusually  bright  mood, 
announced  that  he  had  heard  from  an  old 
school-fellow  of  a  splendid  chance  to  start 


io6  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

in   business   for  himself,  and   that   he   had 
decided   to   go. 

"  You  can  easily  fill  my  place  at  the 
store,  Ned,"  he  said  cheerily  and  then  with 
a  flash  of  gloomy  fire,  "  any  fifteen-year- 
old  boy  can  do  all  I  did." 

His  brother  began  to  protest,  but  the 
mother  noticed  the  sudden  dilation  of  the 
eyelids  and  that  the  left  one  did  not  match 
its  fellow.  She  had  never  observed  it  so 
distinctly  before.  It  gave  her  a  shock  as 
the  sudden  recognition  of  a  facial  blemish, 
but  she  tried  to  prevent  what  she  feared 
would  be  another  unpleasant  scene. 

"I  don't  know  but  Osie  is  quite  right. 
He — If  he — in  case  he  can  better  himself 
and — I'm  sure,  Ned,  you  didn't  mean  to  pre 
vent  " 

"  Osie  is  of  age,  now,"  began  his  father, 
" and "— 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  of  age.  Why  didn't  you 
say  right  out  that  I'd  better  be  doing  some- 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  107 

thing,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth  as 
he  strode  from  the  room, 

"Osie,  Osie,  my  son  !  You  did  not  un 
derstand  !  Osie  don't  " — 

But  the  boy  was  gone,  nor  did  they  see 
him  again  for  four  months.  It  is  true  that 
at  the  end  of  the  first  week  he  wrote  a 
most  kind  and  gentle  letter,  making  no 
reference  at  all  to  his  strange  conduct. 
Nor  was  it  alluded  to  by  any  member  of 
the  family  at  any  time  thereafter.  His  let 
ters  were  bright  and  full  of  his  new  plans. 
Vague  they  were,  perhaps,  but  interesting 
enough.  The  new  enterprise  promised  well 
and  he  was  enthusiastic.  At  the  end  of 
the  fourth  month  he  wrote  for  his  sister  to 
visit  him.  She  went.  She  was  somewhat 
surprised  to  find  him  living  at  a  leading 
hotel  and  in  most  sumptuous  style.  She 
did  not  know  of  the  absence  of  the  little 
leather  case  from  her  mother's  dressing-case 
drawer. 

"  What   a  lot  of  money  you  must    be 


io8  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

making,  Os,"  she  said.  "  I'm  so  glad ! 
Why  didn't  you  tell  us  what  a  swell  you 
had  grown  to  be  all  of  a  sudden  ?  I  " 

"Hush!  Don't  talk  so  loud.  That  man 
next  door  will  hear  you,  and  he's  the  very 
worst  of  all.  I'm  pretty  sure  he  is  at  the 
"bottom  of  the  whole  business,"  he  said, 
lowering  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper  and 
pointing  to  the  door  leading  out  of  his 
room  to  an  adjoining  apartment. 

"  What  whole  business,  Osie  ? "  queried 
the  girl  eagerly,  but  under  her  breath.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean." 

He  focused  his  eyes  upon  her  and  an 
indignant  light  crept  into  them.  The  lids 
of  the  left  one  dilated  strangely.  His  sis 
ter  hastened  to  explain. 

"  If  you  wrote  about  it  to  father  or 
mother,  they  did  not  tell  me.  I  " 

"  Oh,  well.  Never  mind,  then.  We 
won't  talk  about  it,"  he  said  quickly.  "  But 
the  first  chance  you  get,  you  watch  the 
clerk.  The  one  with  side  whiskers,  and 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  109 

see  if  he  don't  tell  the  first  middle-aged 
man  that  comes  in  something  about  me. 
Just  you  watch  now  and  then  111  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

After  that  he  talked  of  his  new  enter 
prise,  took  her  to  see  for  herself  how  well 
they  were  doing,  and  introduced  her  to  his 
partner. 

"Why,  Osie,"  exclaimed  his  sister,  "why 
didn't  you  tell  me  before  that  your  partner 
was  our  old  school-fellow  ?  How  nice ! 
Why,  how  funny  it  seems  to  call  you  Mr. 
Townsend  !  " 

"  Don't,  then,"  laughed  the  young  part 
ner.  "  Call  me  Henry,  just  as  you  always 
did  at  school.  But,  dear  me!  I  shall  have 
to  say  Miss  Hinsdale,  for  you  are  such  a 
tall  young  lady  now.  Os  doesn't  tell  me 
much  about  you  home  folks.  How  is  Ned? 
And  the  rest  ?  Doing  well,  I  hope  !  " 

All  this  had  rattled  on  in  a  merry  way, 
when,  suddenly,  Oswald  took  his  sister's 


I  io  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

arm  and  started  toward  the  door,  where 
he  whispered: 

"Notice  closely.  That  is  what  I  brought 
you  here  for.  Do  you  think  Henry  is  all 
right— in  his  head,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  have  a  chance  to  observe," 
she   exclaimed   softly.      "  Why  ?      Do    you 

think — is   there?      You   don't   mean?" 

She  closed  her  upper  teeth  over  her  full 
under  lip  and  spread  wide  her  eyes.  Her 
brother  nodded  mysteriously  and  drew  her 
outside.  Once  on  the  street  he  hastened 
to  change  the  subject.  He  showed  her  the 
handsome  buildings  and  various  points  of 
interest  and  kept  steadily  away,  she  thought, 
from  the  subject  of  his  partner's  mental 
affliction.  She  did  not  feel  surprised  at 
this.  Oswald  had  grown  so  evasive  of  late 
she  hesitated  to  broach  the  subject  herself. 
Nothing  more  was  said  of  it  during  her 
brief  stay,  and,  indeed,  her  brother  was  so 
full  of  pleasant  excursions  for  her  enter 
tainment  that  it  almost  escaped  her  mind. 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  in 

Their  surprise  at  home,  therefore,  was 
great  indeed,  when,  six  months  later,  Os 
wald  spoke  in  one  of  his  letters  of  a  dis 
solution  of  the  partnership,  and  said  that: 
"  If  this  thing  keeps  up  much  longer,  I 
shall  leave  the  state.  I  had  hoped  it 
would  not  come  to  this,  but  I  cannot  and 
I  will  not  stand  the  pressure  any  longer." 

The  father  was  astonished.  Mrs.  Hins- 
dale's  dismay  knew  no  bounds,  and  after 
a  serious  family  council  it  was  decided 
that  either  Ned  or  his  father  should  go 
on  at  once  to  learn  what  was  the  trouble. 
Evidently  a  letter  had  miscarried,  they 
thought,  for  here  were  references  to  things 
of  which  they  knew  absolutely  nothing  at 
all. 

"  If  the  partnership  has  come  to  grief, 
he  will  be  awfully  sensitive  over  it,"  re 
marked  his  sister,  "  so  let's  don't  say  a 
thing  about  " 

The  door  opened,  and  Oswald  came 
hastily  into  the  room.  He  appeared  care- 


112  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

worn  and  there  was  a  strangely  restless 
look  in  his  eyes.  The  left  one  seemed 
somehow  to  grow  less  like  its  fellow,  and 
yet  few  persons  would  have  noticed  the 
change. 

"  Hello  !  Os  !  "  exclaimed  his  brother, 
rushing  at  him,  but  he  waved  his  hand 
scornfully  toward  Ned  and  went  directly 
to  his  mother. 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  alone,  at  once, 
mother,"  he  said,  and  they  left  the  room  to 
gether.  The  three  that  were  left  gazed  at 
each  other  in  blank  amazement. 

"  He'll  tell  his  mother  all  about  it,  no 
doubt.  We'll  have  to  wait,"  said  Mr.  Hins- 
dale,  rising  and  leaning  heavily  upon  the 
table.  "  Sister,  you  would  better  not  wait 
up.  It  is  late.  Evidently  Osie  is  in  some 
trouble,  and  he  has  followed  his  letter 
home.  It  will  be  best  for  you  not  to  see 
him,  perhaps,  to-night." 

The  girl  went  softly  from  the  room 
and  quietly  closed  her  own  door,  that  she 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  113 

might  not  hear  what  was  said  by  the 
rather  excited  voice  of  her  brother  as  he 
paced  the  floor  and  talked  with  his  mother 
in  his  own  room,  next  to  hers.  When  she 
had  left  the  library,  Ned  walked  over  to 
where  his  father  stood,  and,  touching  the 
hand  that  bore  tremblingly  on  the  table, 
said  gently  : 

"Father,  I'm  afraid  we  are  both  think 
ing  the  same  sad  thought  and  dreading  the 
same  awful  calamity.  Did  you — did  you 
happen  to  notice  his  eyes?" 

"  Yes !  My  God,  Ned,  have  you  thought 
of  it,  too ! "  said  the  unhappy  father  as  he 
sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  "  But  it  is  impossible !  Impos 
sible!  There  has  never  been  anything  of 
the  kind  in  the  family  and  he  is  the  bright 
est  of  us  all." 

II. 

The  following  day,  Ned  and  his  father 
called  upon  a  friend  who  was  also  a  physi- 


114  A  HzM  °f 


cian.  They  talked  in  a  general  and  vague 
way  of  mental  disturbance.  They  put  a 
hypothetical  case  and  the  physician  inter 
rupted  them  before  they  were  half  through, 
with  — 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  tell  you  all  the  rest 
without  another  clue.  The  patient's  parents 
were  nervous,  senemic  people.  One  or  both 
was  indeterminate  of  character,  and  appre 
hensive  of  forfeiting  the  good  opinion  of 
somebody  —  or  everybody.  Was  conventional 
of  conduct  for  that  reason.  The  patient 
began  life  with  brilliant  promise  —  was  pre 
cocious  —  the  pride  of  the  family.  May  have 
been  —  most  likely  was  —  a  genius  in  some 
respects.  Look  here,"  he  exclaimed,  rising 
and  taking  from  a  well-filled  cabinet  a 
strange,  grotesque,  but  elaborately  executed 
piece  of  wood-carving,  "that  was  done  by 
just  such  a  man  as  you  describe.  He  was 
my  patient,  and  a  gifted  fellow.  If  he  had 
only  been  looked  after  soon  enough  he 
might  have  been  saved,  but"  - 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  1 1 5 

"  Saved ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hinsdale.  "  Saved ! 
How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Oh,  if  when  he  began  to  be  precocious 
he  had  been  taken  from  school,  turned 
loose  in  the  country,  not  allowed  to  use  his 
over-stimulated,  unequally  formed  and  un 
equally  developed  brain.  If  —  but  what's 
the  use  talking?  What's  the  use  of  it? 
His  parents  would  have  resented  such  a 
suggestion  bitterly;  those  who  are  physi 
cally  and  mentally  in  a  condition  to  bring 
such  children  into  the  world  always  do, 
until  it  is  too  late.  That  mental  and  physi 
cal  condition  in  them  is  the  very  thing 
that  in  the  next  generation  takes  the  other 
turn.  They'd  think  a  doctor  a  fool  who 
hinted  that  their  brilliant  little  Johnny 
was  not  all  right,"  he  added,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  friends,  mental  students  look 
behind  the  patient  to  find  the  'unseen 
hands  that  long  ago  were  dust/  perhaps, 
which  push  or  turn  the  mental  machinery 


n6  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

that  has   gone   wrong,  openly,  for   the   first 
time   in   this   generation,  maybe." 

He  had  replaced  the  carving  on  its  shelf, 
but  was  still  looking  at  it.  The  two  guests 
sat  silent,  each  absorbed  in  his  own  thought. 
Presently  the  doctor  resumed: 

"To  my  mind  and  eye  that  work  is  of 
the  same  type  as  that  of  Gustave  Dore. 
There  is  mental  chaos — intellectual  distor 
tion — combined  with  great  powers  of  imagi 
nation.  Something  has  saved  Dore",  but  my 
poor  fellow  ran  the  usual  course  and  died 
the  victim  of  his  own  delusions.  But,  see 
here,  we  are  waxing  gloomy.  Are  you  going 
out  to  the  races  this  afternoon?  No?  Well, 
I  am.  I  love  a  good  horse  next  to  my 
children  and  I'm  going  to  see  the  trot. 
Wish  you'd  take  the  other  seat,  Ned. 
Come  along!  Must  you  go  so  soon?  Sorry. 
Well,  drop  in  again.  I'm  seldom  busy  at 
this  hour.  It  is  my  resting  time,  and  I 
don't  see  patients — only  friends.  Good-by." 

Neither    father   nor  son   spoke   as   they 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  117 

walked  toward  home.  Each  had  a  terrible 
weight  upon  his  heart  and  each  dreaded 
to  hear  the  other  confess  it.  Finally,  Ned 
said  in  a  tone  hardly  audible: 

"Some  of  the  symptoms  he  described  are 
not — do  not — I  have  never  seen." 

The   father  groaned,  but  did   not   reply. 

When  they  entered  the  house,  Oswald 
sat  by  the  window,  morose  and  sullen. 

"They  have  been  talking  about  me," 
he  said  to  his  mother  as  he  saw  them  ap 
proach.  "  I  know.  And  I  believe  Ned's  at 
the  bottom  of  this  whole  infernal  business. 
But  I'll  show  him!  I'll  leave  the  country- — 
I" 

His  mother  began  hastily  to  talk  of 
other  things,  and  at  that  moment  the  hus 
band  and  son  entered. 

"Hello,  Osie,"  said  Ned  cheerily.  "How'd 
you  like  to  go  to  the  races  this  afternoon? 
Dr.  White  invited  me  and  I  can't  go.  I'm 
sure  he'd  like  to  have  you,  and  you're  so 
fond  of  horses,  Shall  I" 


1 1 8  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

"  No,  you  shan't.  I  know  your  tricks  1 
don't  go  to  any  races,  with  your  doctor. 
You're  a  couple  of" — 

"Osie!     Osie!"  exclaimed   his  mother. 

His  father  stepped  up  to  him  and  laid 
a  tender,  trembling  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"My  son,  Ned  was  only  trying  to  give 
you  a  pleasure.  He — I — we"- 

The  father's  voice  trembled,  and  at  that 
moment,  Ned,  with  a  little  sob  in  his 
throat,  led  his  mother  from  the  room. 

Oswald  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his 
irritation  instantly  and  began  to  chat  pleas 
antly,  but  there  was  an  ever-changing  dila 
tion  and  shifting  of  the  eyes  that  fixed  his 
father's  gaze  and  made  his  thoughts  trou 
bled  and  anxious. 

But  when,  on  the  following  evening,  Os 
wald  appeared  at  a  brilliant  ball  given  by 
his  cousin  Hortense,  in  honor  of  his  return, 
and  when  he  was  the  admiration  and  envy 
of  all  the  young  men  of  his  set,  because  of 
the  warmth  of  devotion  which  he  very  evi- 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  119 

dently  aroused  in  the  bosom  of  that  young 
lady's  guest  and  friend,  Elinor  Maitland,  his 
father's  anxiety  subsided  a  little  and  he 
said  to  Ned,  upon  their  return  from  the 
ball: 

"  I  guess,  after  all,  we  were  unduly  dis 
turbed,  Ned.  He  has  simply  been  left  too 
much  alone  and  has  grown  morbid  and  al 
lowed  his  quick  temper  to  master  him." 

And  Ned  responded,  with  a  new  quality 
of  happiness  in  his  voice: 

"I  guess  there  is  no  doubt  of  it,  bless 
him!  And  didn't  you  think,  father,  that 
Miss  Elinor  took  a  decided  interest  in  him? 
Wouldn't  that  be  splendid?  She'd  make  a 
man  of  him,  if  any  one  could — and  a  fellow 
could  hardly  be  ugly  tempered  with  her" 
he  added,  a  bit  defensively  and  with  just  a 
hint  of  apology  toward  the  girl  in  his 
voice. 

III. 

But  Oswald's  restless  spirit  urged  him 
to  embark  in  another  enterprise.  He  would 


I2O  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

have  moments  of  despair,  when  he  remem 
bered  that  all  of  the  contents  of  his  mother's 
little  leather  case  had  gone  to  satisfy  the 
demands  of  the  hotel  where  he  had  lived 
so  lavishly. 

Then  he  would  lapse  into  resentment 
against  "the  clerk  with  the  side  whiskers" 
who  had  received  the  money.  Once  he 
hinted  at  very  dark  things  about  this  clerk, 
and  his  mother  essayed  to  learn  what  the 
exact  grievance  was,  but  failed.  She 
thought  it  quite  likely  some  affair  between 
young  men  that  even  her  little  Oswald  did 
not  wish  to  confide  to  her.  She  always 
thought  of  this  stalwart  fellow  as  her  lit 
tle  Oswald.  She  remembered,  so  well,  and 
so  sadly,  the  time  when  he  first  lay  in  hei 
arms.  Over  him  there  had  been  a  sort 
of  reconciliation  with  her  husband.  Not 
that  there  had  ever  been  an  open  break 
between  them ;  but  there  had  been  sad, 
bitter  months  for  both.  The  unreasoning 
and  unreasonable  jealousy  and  suspicion  of 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  1 2 1 

the  young  husband  had  made  her  life  dur 
ing  that  past  year  one  of  exquisite  an 
guish.  From  being  a  frank,  open  girl,  she 
had  learned  to  hedge  in  all  she  did  and 
said.  She  had  grown  careful  of  her  glances 
and  of  her  speech.  She  knew,  full  well, 

*r- 

that  under  his  placid  and  seemingly  com 
pliant  demeanor,  her  husband's  eye  was 
upon  her  with  ever  an  idea  of  treachery 
toward  him,  with  always  a  suspicion  if  she 
but  smiled  upon  another  gentleman,  or 
spoke  in  his  favor,  that  there  probably 
was — back  of  her  smile  or  light  word — 
more  that  he  did  not  know. 

When  the  young  wife  first  awoke  to 
this  fact  she  was  wretched  beyond  words. 
She  resented  it  bitterly,  but  by  degrees 
she  had  grown  weary  of  the  eternal  con 
test,  and  learned  to  evade  all  appearance 
of  interest  in  even  the  male  members  of 
her  own  family.  Partly  in  scorn,  and 
partly  in  sheer  weariness  of  soul,  she  had 
gradually  learned  to  hedge  against  all 


122  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

shadow  of  suspicion.  This  was  all  so  very 
long  ago  now.  With  ripening  years  and 
wisdom  her  husband  had  almost  outgrown 
his  jealous  watchfulness;  but  she  thought 
of  it  now,  and  of  how  the  little  Oswald 
had  brought  to  her  the  first  words  of 
shame  and  repentance  from  her  husband's 
lips.  She  remembered  how  he  had  then 
reproached  himself  and  said  that  he  had 
been  an  "  old  fool."  She  recalled  with 
what  high  hopes  she  had  accepted  all  he 
said,  and,  burning  the  past  behind  them 
and  drenching  its  grave  with  their  tears, 
she  had  held  the  little  peacemaker  close 
to  her  heart  and  sunk  into  a  restful  sleep. 
Poor  little  peacemaker!  A  crisis  had  now 
come  in  his  life,  and  his  mother  wondered, 
vaguely,  if  she  would  be  able  to  bridge 
the  dark  river  for  him  as  he  had  done 
in  his  unconscious  infancy  for  her. 

"  Osie,  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  have  no 
more  money.  You  know  I  had  saved  that 
in  all  the  past  years.  Your  father  never 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  123 

knew  I  had  it.  But  I  tell  you  what  I 
will  do.  I  have  been  thinking.  If — 
if" 

"  You  needn't  throw  it  up  to  me !  I'll 
pay  you  back !  You  know  very  well  you 
forced  me  to  take  it  !  I'd  rather  owe 
somebody  else  !  I  " 

He  had  slammed  the  door  behind  him, 
but  the  flash  in  his  eyes  had  stung  his 
mother  more  even  than  had  his  bitter  words. 
Her  head  sank  slowly  on  her  folded  arms 
as  they  lay  on  the  library  table,  and  a 
bitter  groan  escaped  her  white  lips.  The 
boy  had  always  spoken  kindly  to  her.  He 
had  grown  bitter  and  sucpicious  first 
toward  one,  then  another,  and  finally 
toward  almost  all  others.  But  until  now 
she  had  been  spared  this  final  blow. 

She  did  not  move.  Her  daughter  en 
tered  with  a  cheery — 

"  Oh,   mamma,   did   you " 

The  girl  stopped  suddenly,  and,  with  a 
finger  to  her  lips,  tiptoed  from  the  room. 


124  -A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

"  Mamma  has  fallen  asleep,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  Blessed  little  mamma  !  She 
has  looked  so  anxious  and  sad  lately.  It 
must  be  something  about  Osie,  but  they 
do  not  tell  me.  Osie  is  cross  and  ugly. 
I  think  papa  has  scolded  him.  He  whis 
pered  to  me  yesterday  that  papa  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it  all.  When  I  asked 
what,  he  looked  at  me  angrily  and  said 
that  I  knew  very  well.  But  I  don't.  I 
don't  know  at  all.  Elinor  is  the  only  one 
he  does  not  seem  to  feel  hurt  at.  Oh!" 
she  exclaimed  softly  to  herself,  when  a  sud 
den  light  came  into  her  face.  "I've  solved 
the  whole  mystery,  I  do  believe.  Papa 
thinks  he's  too  young  to  marry,  and  should 
wait  until  he  is  established  in  business, 
and  he  resents  it !  Oh,  I  see  !  " 

She  tapped  her  slippered  foot  on  the 
rug  and  drew  her  eyelids  down.  She  was 
thinking  out  a  plan  to  help  Oswald. 
Meantime,  in  the  room  below,  Mrs.  Hins- 
dale  sat  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  if  a 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  125 

mere  whirl  of  chaotic  mental  pain  may  be 
called  thought.  Her  heart  was  sore  and 
bruised  and  an  awful  light  was  slowly 
dawning  upon  her.  Until  now  her  heart 
had  held  full  sway.  To-day  her  head — poor, 
tired,  troubled,  never  very  clear  or  exact 
head,  wholly  unaccustomed  to  grapple  with 
problems  not  in  her  "woman's  sphere" — was 
beginning  to  take  a  part. 

"  It  cannot,  it  must  not  be  too  late ! " 
she  said,  rising  unsteadily  from  her  chair. 
"  Great  God !  forgive  us  all  !  We  have 
been  so  blind,  so  blind,  so  blind ! "  She 
raised  her  hands  pleadingly  above  her 
head  and  closed  her  eyes,  but  the  tears 
streamed  down  her  sad,  blanched  face,  from 
beneath  the  trembling  lids.  At  last  she 
slipped  to  the  floor  upon  her  knees  and 
with  outstretched  arms  and  streaming  eyes 
called  out  into  space,  "God  help  us!  God 
help  us !  It  must  not  be  too  late  ! " 


126  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 


IV. 

That  night  Oswald  did  not  come  home. 
He  had  but  little  money  with  him,  and 
when  another  day  passed  and  still  he  did 
not  return,  the,  family  talked — for  the  first 
time  openly — of  their  secret,  serious  fears. 
Florence  alone  was  excluded  from  the  coun 
cil.  She  had  gone  to  see  Elinor  that  af 
ternoon,  and  asked  if  Oswald  had  been 
there  since  the  previous  day.  She  had 
done  it  quite  incidentally  and  with  a  de 
sire  not  to  appear  anxious. 

Elinor  laughed  a  little  nervously,  but 
said  he  had  spent  "a  few  minutes  with 
her  just  before  he  took  the  train."  Flor 
ence  had  not  asked  what  train.  She  was 
too  proud  to  let  her  friend  know  that  he 
had  left  home  in  anger. 

Days  passed  and  no  news  came  from 
the  wanderer.  At  the  end  of  the  week 
the  mother  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She 
went  to  Elinor  Maitland  herself.  She  had 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  127 

thought  she  would  be  perfectly  calm,  and 
lead  the  girl  quite  naturally  to  talk  of 
the  boy  they  both  loved.  But  when  she 
saw  Elinor's  pale  face  she  asked,  quite 
without  prelude,  as  she  drew  the  tall 
young  form  to  a  seat  beside  her : 

"Have   you   heard  from  Oswald,  dear?" 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  wide  with  ques 
tioning  fear.  Mrs.  Hinsdale  felt  that  her 
hand  trembled. 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice,  with  her  eyes  now  upon  the  floor. 

"Oh,  Elinor,  Elinor!"  said  the  mother, 
wild  with  fear  for  her  son,  "did  he — did 
you  ? —  You  didn't  discard  him,  dear ! 
You  hold  my  boy's  life — more  than  his  life 
— in  your  hands!  He  has  talked  of  you 
to  me  !  Elinor,  dear  !  "  She  slipped  to 
her  knees  beside  the  girl  and  clasped  her 
hands.  "  For  God's  sake,  Elinor,  help  us 
save  our  boy  !  " 

Elinor's  face  was  as  white  as  stone.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  her  heart  would  break; 


128  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

but  no  tears  came.  Her  brain  was  hot 
and  it  refused  to  think.  At  last  she  took 
the  streaming  face  before  her,  in  her  young 
strong  arms,  and  kissed  it  reverently. 

"  Mother ! "  she  whispered,  and  then  the 
hot  blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks.  "Mother, 
we  did  not  quarrel.  He  said  I  must  go 
with  him  and  I  could  not  do  that.  Then 
he" —  she  paused  and  bit  her  lip.  Tears 
stood  in  her  eyes  for  the  first  time.  Mrs. 
Hinsdale  tightened  her  grasp  upon  the  girl's 
waist  and  pressed  her  own  face  hot  with 
shame  against  Elinor's  heaving  breast. 
There  was  a  long  silence. 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  mother,"  whispered 
she  softly. 

Mrs.  Hinsdale  lifted  her  eyes  to  the 
girl's  face. 

"He  did  not — ?"  Her  eyes  dropped 
again.  Elinor  shivered. 

"He  tried  to  stab  himself  and — and  I 
took  the  knife  from  him.  He" 

Mrs.  Hinsdale  was   sobbing   violently. 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  129 

"Why  didn't  you  go  with  him,  dear? 
Why  did  you  let  him  go  alone — like  that? 
When  he  was  so  desperate?  Why?" 

The  girl's  eyes  dilated  again.  She  was 
staring  at  the  older  woman  in  dismay;  but 
she  could  form  no  word  in  reply.  At  last 
she  said,  as  if  in  self-defence: 

"I — I  was  afraid  of  him.  He  looked 
so  strangely.  His  eyes " —  she  shivered — 
"his  eyes  frightened  me.  I  thought  he 
had  quarreled  with  you.  He  spoke  so  bit 
terly" —  She  checked  herself  and  stroking 
the  silver  hair  of  her  companion,  resumed 
quickly :  "  He  had  always  so  adored  you. 
He  always  talked  of  you  more  than  of 
anything  else.  He" 

The  door  flew  suddenly  open  and  with 
a  quick  stride  Oswald  stood  over  the  pair. 
They  were  paralyzed  by  his  face.  It  was 
hard  and  set,  and  filled  with  a  demon's  fire, 
with  his  left  hand  he  grasped  his  mother's 
shoulder. 

"  Ah ! "  he   sneered   bitterly,  "  I   have  at 


130  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

last  discovered  the  whole  damnable  plot, 
have  I  ?  It  is  you  two  precious  she  devils 
who  have  made  all  the  trouble — concocted 
all- the  schemes — from  the  first  was  it?" 
he  shouted,  with  the  force  and  power  of  a 
maniac,  and  before  the  half-fainting  pair 
could  move  he  had  fired  a  fatal  shot.  His 
mother  lay  on  the  floor  with  a  cruel  wound 
in  her  breast. 

Elinor  had  sprung  to  her  feet.  She 
ran  screaming  from  the  room.  The  bullet 
that  followed  her  buried  itself  in  the  stair- 
way  beyond. 

When  the  butler  and  house-man  en 
tered,  an  instant  later,  Oswald  stood  with 
the  smoking  weapon  in  his  hand,  gazing 
with  profound  satisfaction  upon  the  slowly 
relaxing  features  of  his  mother. 

"You  will  see,"  he  remarked  quite  coolly, 
"that  justice  is  not  wholly  a  thing  of  the 
past  and  God  still  avenges  his  own.  She 
posed  as  my  mother;  but  there  lies  the 
middle-aged  gentleman  who  talked  about 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  131 

me  to  the  clerk  with  the  side  whiskers. 
That  is  why  I  had  to  leave  the  hotel. 
And  he  had  the  impudence  to  come  here 
and  put  his  arms  around  Elinor!  I  shot 
him  and  I  suppose — if  some  other  compli 
cation  doesn't  turn  up — that  the  whole  in 
fernal  conspiracy  is  at  an  end.  Now  I 
shall  be  able  to  sleep." 

"  Yes,  you'll  have  a  damned  good  chance 
to  sleep,"  responded  the  policeman  who  led 
him  away.  I'd  advise  you  to  begin  as 
soon  as  you  get  to  the  calaboose."  But  Os 
wald  appeared  not  to  hear  him,  and  strode 
on,  quite  docilely,  towards  the  living  death 
that  awaited  him.  He  had  not  felt  so  light 
and  happy  since  he  could  remember.  He 
had  at  last  achieved  an  end! 

"  He's  a  workin'  the  insanity  racket," 
scornfully  remarked  the  roundsman,  "but 
he's  altogether  too  clear-headed  on  other 
subjects.  He's  lived  here,  man  and  boy,  too 
long  for  that  sort  of  guff  to  go  down. 


132  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

Always  was  smart.     Always  was   wo'thless, 
an'   always  was   stuck  up." 

"Guess  he'll  get  a  chance  t'  monkey 
with  one  mechanical  appliance  that  he  can't 
manage,"  responded  the  Chief,  glancing  at 
a  large  picture  of  an  electrical  chair  that 
hung  on  the  office  wall.  Whether  it  hung 
there  for  edification  or  for  adornment,  the 
Chief  would  have  been  puzzled  to  state. 

V. 

The  medical  experts  differed.  Those  for 
the  defence  found  him  undoubtedly  insane. 
Those  for  the  prosecution  were  equally  sure 
that  Oswald  Hinsdale  was  mentally  respon 
sible.  The  high  character  of  all  of  these 
gentlemen  precluded  the  possibility  that 
they  were  influenced  by  ulterior  motives. 
Their  professional  ability  excluded  all  belief, 
in  the  public  mind,  that  they  could  be 
mistaken. 

The  Prosecution  proved  that  there  had 
never  been  a  case  of  insanity  in  the  family. 


A  Hall  of  Heredity.  133 

The  jury  was  perplexed.  The  judge  un 
easy.  Only  the  prisoner  was  serene.  His 
conduct  told  strongly  against  him.  He  in 
sisted  that  he  would  do  the  same  deed 
over  if  he  were  given  the  chance.  He 
wrote  pages  upon  pages  of  comments — 
many  of  them  shrewd  and  witty — upon  the 
different  features  of  the  trial.  He  drew 
humorous  sketches  of  the  members  of  the 
jury.  One  of  the  newspapers  published 
some  of  these  caricatures  and  commented 
upon  their  great  cleverness. 

The  night  of  his  conviction,  after  he 
had  gone  back  to  his  cell,  he  asked  the 
keeper  to  let  him  see  the  picture  of  the 
electrical  chair.  He  studied  all  of  its  points 
with  care  and  attention,  and  expressed  a 
conviction  that  he  could  improve  upon  its 
construction,  and  flew  into  a  passion  be 
cause  he  was  not  allowed  a  knife  with 
which  to  whittle  out  a  working  model  upon 
which  he  could  prove  the  superiority  of  his 
design. 


134  A  Hall  of  Heredity. 

The  following  morning  the  keeper  re 
marked  to  the  warden — with  a  shake  of 
the  head,  "  I'm  stumped.  About  half  the  time 
I  think  he's  shammin',  an'  the  other  half  't 
looks  as  if  he  was  sort  of  pushed  by  un 
seen  hands  and  worked  kind  of  mechanical- 
like.  I  kinder  wish  they  had  a  sent  him  up 
fer  life,  'nstead  of  what  they  did." 

The  warden  glanced  up  with  a  sneer, 
ing  smile : 

"Gettin*  chicken  hearted,  ain't  you,  Jerry? 
What's  t"  hinder  the  doctors  from  knowin' 
it  if  he  was  looney?  Hey?" 

"Well,  half  of  'em  said  he  wus,"  re 
marked  Jerry,  as  he  withdrew,  "an*  I  don't 
know  who's  t'  make  sure  that  the  jury 
didn't  pin  their  faith  to  the  wrong  half. 
But  it  ain't  none  o'  my  funerile — an'  I 
wisht  it  wasn't  his'n,"  he  added,  as  he 
yielded  his  place  to  the  relief  watch. 


THAT  REMINDS   ME  OF"- 


"How  short  a  time  since  this  whole  nation  rose 
every  morning  to  read  or  hear  the  traits  of  courage 
of  its  sons  and  brothers  in  the  field,  and  was  never 
weary  of  the  theme !  ....  I  am  much  mistak 
en  if  every  man  who  went  to  the  army,  had  not  a 
lively  curiosity  to  know  how  he  should  behave  in 

action Each  whispers   to    himself  :     '  My 

exertions  must  be  of  small  account  on  the  result ; 
only  will  the  benignant  Heaven  save  me  from  dis 
gracing  myself  and  my  friends  and  my  State.  Die! 
Oh,  yes,  I  can  die ;  but  I  cannot  afford  to  misbehave ; 
and  I  do  not  know  how  I  shall  feel.'  " 

EMERSON. 


"THAT  REMINDS   ME  OF"- 


( 4  ^  I  ^HERE  are  several  kinds  of  courage 
as  well  as  of  cowardice,"  said  the 
old  soldier  who  was  promoted  from  the 
ranks  for  conspicuous  bravery  on  the  field 
of  Shiloh. 

"Now,  there  was  the  case  of  our  order 
ly.  When  we  were  enlisted  he  was  made 
orderly  because  of  his  fine  figure  and  so 
cial  position.  He  was  a  good  fellow,  too, 
and  a  leader  in  our  athletic  club,  fond  of 
hunting,  and  a  good  marksman;  and  none 
of  us  who  were  merely  privates  envied 
him.  But  he  disappeared  from  view  dur 
ing  our  first  skirmish,  and  did  not  report 
until  a  day  after  the  battle.  We  thought 
he  had  been  captured  or  killed.  When  he 
put  in  an  appearance  at  camp  again,  he 
said  that  just  as  the  first  guns  had  been 


140          "That  Reminds  Me  Of"- 


fired  he  had  a  dreadful  attack  of  cramps, 
and  had  lain  ever  since — all  but  dead— in 
the  strip  of  woods  that  skirted  the  battle 
field. 

"  Some  of  us  had  our  suspicions,  of 
course,  but  we  kept  them  to  ourselves,  and 
it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  we  felt  a  little 
ashamed  of  ourselves  for  harboring  thoughts 
that  were  dishonoring  to  our  handsome 
young  orderly. 

"  Well,  everything  went  along  as  usual 
until  the  next  engagement.  It  was  a 
good  deal  of  a  battle,  you  know — Shiloh." 

Everyone  smiled  at  the  modesty  of  his 
expression  and  seemed  to  think  it  was 
a  good  deal  of  a  battle  at  Shiloh. 

"  I'm  free  to  confess  that  our  whole 
command  wavered.  There  was  an  impulse 
to  turn  and  run  when  the  deadly  fire 
opened  on  us — most  of  us  were  boys, 
then.  But  in  an  instant  that  subtle  influ 
ence  that  is  felt  all  along  the  line  when 
an  officer's  voice  rings  out  clear  and  bold 


"That  Reminds  Me  Of"-  141 

stemmed  the  pulse-beat  that  swept  along 
the  front  rank,  and  we  closed  up  and 
marched  steadily  into  the  hell  of  rifle  and 
cannon  that  waited  for  us. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  I  was 
on  what  you  call  the  wrong  side — the 
Southern  side.  Well,  I  was.  It  is  neither 
here  nor  there  how  that  came  about;  for 
I  only  started  in,  this  time,  to  tell  a  lit 
tle  thing  about  courage,  and  ask  what  you 
think  of  it — and  I  don't  suppose  you  will 
think  that  courage  is  of  a  different  qual 
ity  because  it  happened  to  be  Confederate. 

"  At  any  rate,  you  won't  think  so  if 
any  of  you  were  soldiers,"  he  added,  laugh 
ing  softly. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent  from 
the  tall  man  in  the  corner,  who  did  not 
use  his  title,  although  he  had  earned  it 
as  a  union  volunteer,  and  risen  from  the 
ranks  until  he  was  a  staff  officer,  with 
the  eagle  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Nobody  who  faced  you  questions  the 


142          "That  Reminds  Me  Of"- 

quality  of  your  bravery,"  came  from  the 
serene  artist,  who  served  all  through  the 
war  as  an  undistinguished  Low  Private — 
so  he  said.  His  rough  exterior  and  the 
tenderness  of  his  heart  had  won  the  love 
of  all  who  knew  him,  and  the  exquisite 
delicacy  of  artistic  conception  and  touch 
had,  for  years  now,  placed  his  name  high 
on  the  ladder  of  fame. 

No  one  else  spoke,  and  the  Confed 
erate  went  on. 

"  Well,  of  course,  we  had  no  time  to 
think  whether  our  orderly  was  there  or 
not,  until  the  battle  was  all  over.  Then 
we  began  to  inquire  among  ourselves 
and  found  that  no  one  had  seen  him 
since  the  firing  began. 

"  Somebody  suggested  cramps  again, 
but  we  were  not  at  all  sure  that  he  had 
not  been  killed,  so  we  dropped  it,  as  peo 
ple  do  such  chaffing  in  the  face  of  death. 

"  Well,  now,  you'd  hardly  believe  that 
that  fellow  actually  reported  two  days  af- 


"That  Reminds  Me  Of1-  143 

ter  the  battle,  with  exactly  the  same  old 
excuse.  Of  course  he  was  degraded  to  the 
ranks,  and  put  on  what  we  called  Miss 
Nancy  duty.  That  is,  he  had  no  gun  at 
all,  and  it  was  his  duty  simply  to  carry 
the  wounded  off  the  field,  after  the  battle 
was  over,  or  stay  behind  the  lines  and 
give  relief  to  those  who  crawled  back, 
wounded. 

"He  was  never  called  anything  else  but 
old  Cholera  Morbus — and,  by  gad,  he  had 
the  courage  to  stay  and  take  it  ! 

"But  that  is  not  all  — though  I  think 
that  required  more  grit  than  I'd  have 
had.  But  this  I'm  coming  to  is  what  I 
started  to  tell.  Just  the  minute  he  found 
himself  in  that  position — a  disgraced,  dis 
honored,  and  disarmed  soldier — he  sudden 
ly  developed  a  grade  of  courage  that  fair 
ly  made  your  heart  stand  still.  He  never 
once  stayed  behind  the  ranks.  He  would 
walk  right  out  in  front,  where  he  was 
just  as  likely  to  be  shot  by  us  as  by  the 


144          "That  Reminds  Me  Of"- 


Yankees,  and  rescue  a  comrade  who  had 
fallen,  and  take  him  back  where,  in  case 
of  a  charge,  he  wouldn't  be  trampled. 

"I've  seen  him  do  it  fifty  times,  and, 
if  one  of  the  men,  who  were  detailed  to 
help  him  wouldn't  go  along,  by  George, 
he'd  go  alone,  and  struggle  back  with  his 
burden,  covering  the  wounded  man  the 
best  he  could  with  his  own  body.  I  saw 
him  do  it  once  or  twice  when  I  don't  be 
lieve  I  could  have  forced  myself  up  to 
such  an  act  of  foolhardy  heroism  if  it  had 
been  to  save  my  life.  It  was  almost  cer 
tain  death,  and  he  must  have  known  it 
perfectly  well,  for,  as  I  say,  he  had  none 
of  the  excitement  and  mental  occupation 
of  moving  with  large  numbers,  and  he 
hadn't  even  a  revolver  or  any  means  of 
defence.  By  gad  !  I  don't  know  how  he 
ever  did  it !  " 

"Don't  you  think  he  was  trying  to  re 
trieve  his  reputation?"  drawled  the  artistic 


"That  Reminds  Me  Of"-  145 

Low  Private,  "  and  hoped  thereby  to  be 
restored  to  the  ranks  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  responded  the  Confederate, 
slowly,  "  we  all  had  that  idea  the  first 
few  times  we  saw  him  do  it,  and  we 
kept  on  calling  him  old  Cholera  Morbus; 
but  after  he'd  kept  it  up  for  over  a  year 
our  colonel  had  him  transferred  to  a  reg 
iment  where  his  record  and  sobriquet  were 
not  known.  The  colonel  said  in  his  hear 
ing,  to  his  new  commander,  that  he  had 
been  so  conspicuously  brave  when  detailed 
to  do  relief  work,  that  it  was  hoped  and 
believed  that  he  would  rise  from  the  ranks 
in  a  short  time. 

"  Well,  sir,  the  minute  that  man  was 
given  a  gun  again,  and  put  in  the  ranks, 
with  a  chance  to  defend  himself,  and  to 
have  the  aid  and  inspiration  that  numbers 
would  give,  he  " 

"Not  cramps  again?"  queried  the  tall 
colonel,  with  an  incredulous  laugh. 

"  As  true  as  there  is  a   God  in  heaven, 


146          "That  Reminds  Me  <?/"- 


he  did  that  very  thing!  That  is  to  say, 
when  the  battle  was  over  he  turned  up 
with  that  excuse  again. 

"  Now,  how  would  you  explain  that  ? 
If  it  was  lack  of  courage  how  do  you 
account  for  his  extraordinary  and  wholly 
unnecessary  and  unasked-for  courage  the 
moment  he  had  no  arms,  and  was  at  the 
mercy  of  both  lines  of  battle  ? 

"It  has  always  puzzled  me,  and  I  used 
to  look  at  the  fellow  with  feelings  little 
short  of  awe.  It  was  the  strangest  study 
I  ever  saw,  in  courage.  Did  either  of  you 
ever  see  a  case  to  beat  it  ?  "  he  asked, 
looking  from  the  tall  colonel  to  the  artistic 
Low  Private. 

The  latter  named  gentleman  shook  his 
head. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ever  did,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  But  we  had  a  funny  case 
in  our  company.  He  was  a  sort  of  half 
witted  creature  with  defective  vocal  organs. 
I  think  he'd  lost  part  of  the  roof  of  his 


uT/iat  Reminds  Me  Of" 147 

mouth,  or  his  palate,  or  something.  Any 
how,  he  talked  the  queerest  you  ever  heard. 
Sounded  like  a  duck  quacking.  No,  not 
like  that,  either.  Talked  'nis  wa',"  said  the 
Low  Private,  twisting  his  mouth  to  one 
side  and  making  queer,  guttural,  roofless, 
unspellable  sounds. 

"  His  name  was  Christian.  He  was  the 
biggest  fool  about  some  things  that  I  ever 
saw.  He  had  an  old  flint-lock  gun  that  he 
thought  the  world  and  all  of  and  he  used 
to  keep  it  polished  up  so  bright  that  you 
could  see  your  face  in  it.  He  polished  it 
with  a  strap.  He'd  hold  the  old  flinter  be 
tween  his  knees,  and  rub  that  strap  back 
and  forth,  back  and  forth,  as  swift  as  light 
ning,  until  the  barrel  would  be  fairly  hot, 
and  it  would  look  like  a  mirror.  Of  course, 
he  was  not  a  regular  soldier,  but  he  was  a 
good  cook  and  did  chores,  and  we  made 
a  sort  of  a  pet  and  butt  of  him.  Every 
body  liked  him  and  joked  with  him.  All 
the  time  he  was  not  otherwise  engaged  he 


148          "That  Reminds  Me  Of"- 


would  be  sitting  behind  his  tent  polishing 
his  old  flint-lock.  We  used  to  offer  to 
swop  guns  with  him,  but  he  wouldn't  trade 
for  the  best  Enfield  ever  made.  When  we 
marched  he'd  teeter  along  with  that  darned 
old  flint-lock  over  his  shoulder  shining  like 
burnished  silver.  Of  course,  the  boys  used 
to  steal  it  and  leave  a  good  gun  in  its 
place;  but  the  first  time  we  tried  it,  Chris 
tian  cried  like  a  baby  until  we  made  the 
joker  give  it  back,  and  the  second  time,  by 
gad,  he  showed  fight — and  the  comical  part 
about  it  was  he  was  going  to  lick  the  man 
who  hooked  it  the  first  time,  and  he  didn't 
know  anything  about  who  had  it  this  time. 
"But  all  that  is  only  to  give  you  an 
idea  of  the  sort  of  chap  Christian  was  before 
I  came  to  his  feat  of  courage — or  whatever 
you  might  call  it.  It  goes  without  saying 
that  he  was  never  allowed  in  a  battle  ;  but 
at  Vicksburg  he  broke  loose,  as  the  boys 
always  said,  and  got  in  the  fight  all  on  his 
own  hook. 


"That  Reminds  Me  Of 149 

"  Of  course,  after  the  firing  begins  in  ear 
nest,  it  is  so  constant  that  it  is  only  a  whir 
and  a  buzz,  and  you  don't  distinguish  the 
noise  of  your  own  gun  from  that  of  all  the 
rest.  Well,  sir,  we  all  had  an  idea  that  if 
Christian  ever  did  undertake  to  discharge 
his  gun,  some  of  us  would  fall,  sure.  We 
thought  the  old  thing  would  explode,  so 
we  never  gave  him  any  ammunition. 

"  Somehow  or  other,  he  got  some.  He 
told  us  he  took  it  off  a  'dead  Reb,'  and 
I  don't  doubt  that  he  did.  Anyway,  he  got 
a  good  big  supply,  and  some  of  the  boys 
saw  him  loading  away  and  taking  aim  at 
a  lively  rate.  He  was  right  up  with  the 
line,  and  the  men  who  saw  him  had  no 
chance  to  stop  him.  Then,  when  the  old 
flinter  didn't  explode,  they  concluded  it  was 
all  right,  and  forgot  all  about  Christian 
and  his  shiny  gun. 

"Toward  night,  as  the  firing  ceased — only 
as  stray  shots  here  and  there  warned  us 
to  lay  low  after  we  had  fallen  back  for 


150          "  That  Reminds  Me  Of- 


the  night — some  of  us  saw  that  darned 
fool  away  out  between  the  lines,  sitting 
down  on  the  ground  beside  a  dead  man. 
And  what  do  you  suppose  he  was  doing?" 

"Polishing  his  gun!"  suggested  the  Con 
federate,  laughing! 

"No,  not  exactly,"  said  the  Artistic  Low 
Private,  stooping  over  to  illustrate  his  reply, 
"but  it  wasn't  far  from  it.  Here  lay  the 
dead  man  with  a  splendid  new  Enfield  rifle 
beside  him,  and  here  sat  that  fool  Chris 
tian,  and  you  must  remember  that  sharp 
shooters  and  straggling  men  were  popping 
away  pretty  steadily,  picking  off  every  head 
that  showed  itself  out  of  cover.  The  dust 
would  spat  up  all  about  him  as  if  handsful 
of  beans  were  thrown  about  him  on  the 
ground.  You  know  how  that  is. 

"  Well,  there  he  sat,  cross-legged,  tugging 
away  for  dear  life  at  the  strap  on  the  En- 
field.  He  undid  that  strap — which  was  new 
— and  then  took  off  his  old  one  and  threw 
it  over  the  dead  man's  arm.  Then,  he  de- 


"That  Reminds  Me  Of" 151 

liberately  buckled  the  new  strap  onto  his 
old  flinter,  got  up,  shouldered  it  and  waddled 
back  to  our  lines.  The  bullets  were  just 
whizzing  past  him  all  the  time. 

"  He  didn't  get  a  scratch.  When  we  got 
a  chance,  we  examined  his  gun,  and,  by 
Jove,  it  was  loaded  nearly  to  the  muzzle. 
He'd  loaded  it  every  time,  bat  he  hadn't 
fired  it  once." 

"If  he  had,  there  would  have  been  a 
wide  vacancy  in  your  ranks,"  remarked  the 
Confederate,  laughing. 

"I  guess  there's  no  doubt  about  that, 
but,  they  do  say,  the  '  Lord  takes  care  of 
children  and  fools,'"  replied  the  Artist, 
gravely. 

"Which  would  you  call  the  men  who 
stood  around  your  patriot  with  the  sur 
charged  blunderbuss?"  queried  the  tall  colo 
nel,  drily." 

Everyone  laughed. 

"It's  a  fact,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that," 
assented  the  Artist,  dreamily.  "  But,  what  I 


152          "That  Reminds  Me  Of"- 


started  out  to  ask  was,  What  do  you  think 
of  the  courage  of  that  donkey  who  calmly 
sat  there  and  undid  and  refastened  that 
strap?  He  knew  enough  to  know  he  was 
being  shot  at,  and,  two  or  three  times,  he 
stopped  an  instant  in  his  work,  and,  shak 
ing  his  fist  at  the  enemy,  remarked:  <Dod 
blast  ye!  I'm  agoin'  t'  hav'  nis  new  snrap 
er  bust.  Dod  blast  ye!  Shoon  away,'  and, 
when  he  got  good  and  ready,  he  shoul 
dered  his  old  surcharged  blunderbuss  and 
walked  off  the  field  like  a  drum-major  on 
dress  parade.  I've  always  wondered  what 
the  Rebs  thought  of  it.  Of  course,  they 
couldn't  know  what  he  was  doing,  nor  that 
he  was  a  sort  of  a  looney.  They  must 
have  thought  he  was  a  demi-god  of  courage, 
who  bore  a  charmed  life.  Yes,  courage  is  a 
queer  thing,  and  is  displayed  in  strange 
ways.  Sometimes,  you  have  it  and  some 
times  you  don't.  I  wasn't  as  scared  all 
the  time  I  was  in  the  army  as  I  was  one 
day  in  Paris,  when  one  of  the  young  devils 


"That   Reminds   Me    Of"-  153 

in  the  studio  put  a  live  bull  frog  into  my 
coat  pocket,  and  I  put  my  hand  in,  on  it.  I 
nearly  had  a  fit.  I  was  scared  almost  to 
death.  Yes,  indeed,  courage  is  a  queer  thing 
and  takes  freaks  in  all  of  us,  I  guess." 
"Speaking  of  that  reminds  me  of  a  case 

in  our" began  the  tall  colonel.     But  at 

that  moment,  a  lady  at  the  piano  dashed 
into  a  lively  air,  and  the  colonel's  story  is 
yet  to  be  told. 


HIS  MOTHER'S  BOY. 


"Ye  noticed    Polly,    the  baby?     A  month   afore  she 

was  born, 

Cicely,  my  old  woman,  was  moody-like  and  forlorn; 
Out  of  her  head  and  crazy,  and  talked  of  flowers 

and  trees: 
Family  man    yourself,   sir?    Well,   you  know  what  a 

woman  be's. 
Narvous  she  was,  and  restless — said  that  she  'couldn't 

stay.' 
Stay — and  the  nearest  woman   seventeen  miles  away! 

One  night — the  tenth  of  October — I  woke  with  a  chill 

and  fright, 
For  the  door  it  was  standing  open,  and  Cicely  warn't 

in  sight; 
But  a  note  was  pinned  to  the  blanket,  which  it  said 

that  she   'couldn't  stay,' 
But  had    gone  to  visit  a  neighbor — seventeen    miles 

away! 

I've  had  some  mighty  mean    moments  afore  I  kern 

to  this  spot — 

Lost  on  the  plains  in  '50,  drownded  almost,  and  shot; 
But  out  on  this  alkali  desert,  a  hunting  a  crazy  wife, 
Was  ra'ly  as  on-satis-factory  as  anything  in  my  life." 

BRET  HARTE. 
"Men  are  what  their  mothers  made  them." 

EMERSON. 


HIS   MOTHER'S   BOY. 

"\  A  7"E  were  sitting  in  my  library  with 
the  light  turned  very  low.  He 
was  my  guest  under  rather  sad  and  trying 
circumstances,  for,  in  the  adjoining  room 
lay  a  little  body,  bandaged,  and  unconscious; 
and  he,  my  guest,  was  the  child's  brother 
and  guardian.  Until  to-day  we  were  stran 
gers,  but  he  had  arrived,  an  hour  before,  in 
response  to  my  telegram.  I  had  sent  the 
message  the  moment  I  discovered  his  ad 
dress,  by  reading  a  kind  and  tender  letter, 
which  was  taken  by  the  police  from  the 
little  lad's  pocket  when  he  was  shot. 

On  the  strength  of  that  letter,  I  had 
kept  the  boy  at  my  own  house,  instead  of 
sending  him  to  the  hospital.  Everything 
it  was  possible  to  do  had  been  done  for 
him;  but  he  had,  as  yet,  never  regained 


160  His  Mother's  Boy. 

consciousness.  Notwithstanding  this  fact,  he 
had  twice  dragged  his  weak  body  from  the 
bed,  and  attempted  to  leave  the  house.  He 
seemed  unhappy,  only  because  he  could  not 
"go  somewhere,"  as  he  expressed  it,  in  his  mum 
bled,  broken  utterance.  I  supposed  that  his 
mind  had  been  so  impressed  by  a  journey  he 
was  to  take,  that  even  in  his  delirium  he  could 
not  forget  it,  and  was  trying  to  push  ahead. 

I  was  telling  his  brother  this,  as  we  sat 
in  the  darkened  library  and  talked  over  the 
case  in  subdued  tones.  What  I  told  him 
was  what  I  now  tell  you.  I  had  been  driv 
ing  with  my  wife  through  the  streets  of 
Albany,  when  we  came  suddenly  upon  an 
excited  crowd  of  men,  women,  and  children. 
There  had  been,  a  few  minutes  before,  a  col 
lision  between  the  Pinkerton  men  and  a 
body  of  railroad  strikers.  There  lay  on  the 
ground  two  men,  a  woman,  and  this  boy. 
The  police  were  driving  the  maddened 
crowd  back.  One  of  the  officers  mistook  me 
for  my  brother,  who  is  a  hospital  surgeon, 


His  Mother's  Boy.  161 

and  asked  me  to  look  after  the  child.  He 
was  such  a  delicate  looking  little  fellow,  so 
well  dressed,  and  so  evidently  did  not  be 
long  to  anyone  present,  that  my  wife  in 
sisted  that  he  be  laid  in  our  carriage  and 
driven  to  our  home  until  his  parents  could 
be  notified.  This  was  done.  An  officer  went 
with  us,  and  when  we  had  put  the  child  to 
bed,  while  we  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
doctor,  we  searched  his  pockets  and  found 
the  letter  referred  to.  It  began: — 

"My  dear  little  brother,"  and  ended 
"your  devoted  brother,  Walter."  At  first  I 
did  not  see  the  clue  this  gave,  but  the 
envelope  was  addressed  to  Master  Ralph 
Travers,  and  had  been  written  in  Maiden, 
Mass.,  but  there  was  no  postmark.  It  was 
an  old  letter,  too,  so  that  it  was  not  certain 
that  it  would  be  of  much  use  to  us. 

However,  we  decided  to  send  a  telegram 
at  once  to  Mr.  Walter  Travers  at  Maiden, 
and  say  that  his  little  brother  was  seriously 
hurt  and  was  apparently  alone.  I  did  this. 


1 62  His  Mother  s  Boy. 

The  reply  came  promptly.  "I  shall  come  at 
once.  Watch  him  closely,  or  he  will  escape." 
I  looked  at  the  little  chap  with  renewed  in 
terest  "  Escape  !  "  I  thought,  and  could 
hardly  repress  a  smile.  It  seemed  such  an 
absurd  word  to  apply  to  him.  After  his 
wounds — for  he  had  received  a  scalp  wound 
from  a  stone  or  club,  as  well  as  the  bullet 
in  his  shoulder — had  been  dressed,  and  we 
had  done  all  we  could  for  him,  we  left 
him  alone  in  the  room,  hoping  he  might 
sleep.  We  heard  his  voice,  and  listened, 
and  looked.  He  was  talking  about  "going," 
and  later  on  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  and 
I  had  to  lay  him  down  again. 

While  we  were  out  of  the  room  another 
time,  he  had  gone  as  far  as  the  hall  door, 
and  had  fallen  from  weakness. 

Then  I  began  to  think  perhaps  he  had 
been  insane,  and  that  the  word  "escape" 
was  used  by  his  brother  for  that  reason. 
From  that  moment  we  did  not  leave  him 
alone  an  instant  until  his  brother  came. 


His  Mother's  Boy.  163 

I  did  what  I  could  to  relieve  my  guest's 
natural  anxiety  about  the  little  fellow.  He 
sat  for  a  long  time  by  the  bed,  after  looking 
with  approval  at  the  bandages  and  medicines. 

"I  am  a  doctor,  myself,"  he  said  simply 
in  explanation. 

"Oh,  that  is  good,"  I  replied.  "I  hope 
you  find  everything  right." 

"I  do  indeed,  and  how  can  I  thank  you? 
It  was You  were  very,  very  kind.  I" — 

His  feelings  overcame  him.  He  stooped 
and  kissed  the  pale  face,  and  then  turned 
to  me,  and  took  my  hand  in  both  of  his 
own  and  drew  me  toward  the  door. 

Once  outside  he  said,  "You  will  under 
stand.  I  cannot  talk  of  it  now.  He  is  very 
dear  to  me,  and  I  am  all  he  has  in  the 
world,  poor  little  fellow." 

He  spoke  as  if  the  child  were  in  some 
way  afflicted,  and  I  thought  again  of  the 
word  "escape," 

"Your  emotion  is  perfectly  natural,  I  am 
sure,"  I  said.  "We  did  nothing.  He  is  a 


164  His  MotJters  Boy. 

pretty  boy,  and  we  liked  to  feel  that  he 
would  prefer  to  wake  up — when  that  time 
comes — in  a  place  that  would  seem  more 
like  home  than  a  hospital  ward." 

The  doctor  pressed  my  hand  again,  and 
sat  down  by  the  library  table. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  please — all,"  he 
said  presently. 

I  did  so. 

"You  wonder  how  he  happened  to  be 
here  alone,  and  why  I  asked  you  to  watch 
him,"  he  said  when  I  had  finished.  "You 
will  have  to  let  me  tell  you  a  long  story; 
for  without  a  theory  I  have,  I  could  not  ex 
plain  to  you  either  the  why,  or  the  how. 
Even  with  the  theory,  I  am  puzzled  still. 
Perhaps  you  can  help  me  unravel  the 
mystery  and  advise  me  for  the  future. 
You  are  older  than  I.  I  am  not  quite 
thirty,  and  if  the  poor  little  fellow  pulls 
through  this,  I  have  still  a  strange  and 
unknown  road  to  pilot  him  over." 

He   sat  silent  for  a  moment,  and  looked 


His  Mother  s  Boy.  165 

out  into  the  street  through  the  parted  cur 
tains,  in  front  of  him.  My  wife  entered, 
and  went  softly  into  the  sick-room. 

"I  should  like  to  hear  the  story,"  I 
said,  still  vaguely  uncomfortable,  but  with 
renewed  confidence  in  the  man,  who  wrote 
his  little  brother  the  letter  I  had  read,  and 
who  seemed  now  so  tender  and  thoughtful. 
He  began  in  a  low  voice,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  street  beyond  : 

"When  my  father  brought  my  pretty 
young  step-mother  home,  I  was  prepared  to 
be,  if  not  exactly  unfriendly,  at  least  ready 
to  become  so  upon  very  slight  grounds.  I 
had  heard,  here  and  there,  as  all  children 
do,  the  hints  and  flings  which  prepare 
their  minds  for  hostile  feeling  toward  the 
new-comer  who  may  be,  and  often  is,  wiser, 
kinder,  and  more  loving  than  was  the  one 
whose  place  she  has  come  to  fill." 

I  was  glad  my  wife  had  gone  into  the 
sick-room.  This  was  a  sore  point  with  her. 
I  hoped  that  she  had  not  heard  him. 


1 66  His  Matters  Boy. 

"But  most  of  us,  old  and  young,  take 
our  opinions — receive  our  entire  mental  out 
look —  from  others.  That  which  we  hear 
often  becomes  to  our  receptive  minds  a 
part  of  our  mental  equipment,  and  we  seri 
ously  believe  that  we  are  stating  our  own 
thoughts  and  opinions,  when,  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten,  we  are  doing  nothing  of  the 
kind.  Frequency  of  iteration  passes  as 
proof,  and  we  are  saddled,  before  we  know 
it,  with  a  thousand  prejudices  and  assump 
tions  that  we  have  neither  originated  nor 
understood,  an  investigation  into  whose  bear 
ings  would  not  only  result,  in  many  cases, 
in  an  entire  revolution  of  opinion,  but 
would  disturb  the  basis  of  many  a  hoary 
belief,  and  right  many  a  cruel  injustice." 

He  paused.  I  bowed  assent,  and  he 
went  on. 

"I  supposed  that  step-mothers  were  ne 
cessarily  a  very  undesirable  acquisition  in 
any  family,  and  this  well-established  theory 
was  so  firmly  rooted  in  what  I  believed 


His  Mother  s  Boy.  167 

to  be  my  mind,  that  nothing  short  cf  the 
love  and  devotion  I  had  for  my  father 
enabled  me  to  receive  his  pretty  bride 
with  even  a  show  of  cordiality. 

"I  can  see  now  what  a  strain  it  must 
all  have  been  for  her.  To  come  among 
strangers — all  of  whom  were  curious  and 
none  of  whom  excelled  in  either  wisdom 
or  charity — having  just  entered  that  strange 
and  winding  path  called  matrimony,  with 
the  usual  blindness  to  its  meaning  with 
which  it  is  the  fashion  to  invest  the  one 
to  whom  it  must  always  mean  much  of 
sorrow,  and  more  of  responsibility. 

"To  tread  such  a  path  without  striking 
one's  feet  against  the  thorns  of  individu 
ality,  and  tearing  one's  hands  with  the 
thistles  of  rudely  awakened  ignorance,  must 
be  very  difficult  ;  but  add  to  this  the  fact 
that  my  young  step-mother  would  have  no 
friendly  faces  about  her,  to  which  she  was 
accustomed,  that  there  were  none  of  her 
own  kindred,  and  none  of  her  culture  and 


1 68  His  MotJurs  Boy. 

training  to  whom  she  might  go  to  unbur 
den  her  heart  or  ask  advice  ;  and  then 
add  to  this,  also,  the  fact  that  her  new 
position  involved  the  wisdom  to  guide  and 
the  patience  to  win  the  love  of  others  be 
side  my  father,  and  you  will  be  able  to 
understand  something,  perhaps,  of  what  I 
shall  tell  you  of  her  conduct  and  its  un 
happy  results — as  I  am  convinced — upon 
my  little  brother. 

"  Her  constant  self-denial,  and  heroic 
efforts  to  live  for  others,  and  to  sacrifice 
herself,  was,  I  am  satisfied,  the  sole  cause 
of  the  strange,  sad,  developments  that  grew 
to  be  so  puzzling  in  the  character  of  her 
child.  Nature  is  a  terrible  antagonist. 
You  may  refuse  her  demands  and  stran 
gle  her  needs  to-day  ;  but  to-morrow  she 
will  be  avenged.  The  saddest  part  of  this 
sad  fact  to  me  is  this:  She  is  too  often 
avenged  upon  those  who  are  helpless — 
upon  those  who  come  after. 

"  I   was   a  lad   of    seventeen   when   my 


His  Mother's  Boy.  169 

new  mother  came,  and  I  was  no  better 
and  no  worse  than  the  average  unthink 
ing  youth.  I  had  been  trained  to  be  a 
gentleman,  always,  toward  women,  and  I 
hope  that  I  sustained  my  reputation  in  my 
conduct  towards  my  father's  wife.  She 
was  pretty,  too,  unusually  pretty,  and  that 
helped  a  good  deal.  It  is  always  easier  to 
be  polite  to  a  pretty  woman  than  to  one 
who  is  lacking  in  the  one  thing  upon 
which — to  the  shame  of  the  race  be  it  said 
— womanhood  has  been  valued." 

I  looked  up  again  and  smiled.  He 
turned  his  face  to  meet  my  eyes  for  the 
first  time  since  he  began,  and  a  rather 
sarcastic  smile  lit  his  own  somewhat  som 
ber  features  as  he  went  on. 

"  It  is  quite  as  easy  for  me  now,  as 
a  practicing  physician,  to  be  attentive  to 
and  interested  in  a  homely  man  or  boy 
as  in  one  who  has  regular  features  and 
fine  teeth  ;  but  it  is  equally  true  that  this 
is  not  the  case  with  women  and  girls.  I 


170  His  Mothers  Boy. 

trust  that  I  have  always  done  my  profes 
sional  duty  in  any  case;  but  I  have  done 
it  with  pleasure  that  was  real  and  inter 
est  that  was  constant,  I  am  sure,  far  more 
frequently  when  the  patient  has  been  a 
woman  of  beauty. 

"  It  is  not  an  element  which  enters 
into  the  treatment  of  my  male  patients." 

"  Naturally,"  I  assented,  still  smiling, 
and  he  turned  toward  the  window  again, 
and  his  usual  gravity  returned. 

"  But  all  this  is  a  digression  only  in 
so  far  as  it  may  serve  to  illustrate  the 
indubitable  fact  that — to  use  a  gaming  ex 
pression — my  step-mother  played  her  high 
est  trump  card  upon  my  susceptible,  boyish 
nature,  when  she  stepped  from  the  car 
riage,  and  I  saw  that  she  was  fair  to  look 
upon.  I  made  up  my  mind  at  once  that 
she  should  never  know  that  I  was  sorry 
she  had  come,  and  I  did  what  I  could  to 
carry  out  the  resolve. 

"  But    for    all    that    she    did    know   it. 


His  Mother's  Boy.  171 

Her  whole  attitude  toward  me  was  one  of 
apology  and  conciliation,  and  my  father 
saw — and  seeing,  alas  !  approved. 

"I  am  sorry  to  be  compelled  to  say 
this,  for  my  father  was,  in  the  main,  a 
thoughtful  and  humane  man,  and  certainly 
he  had  no  wish  to  humiliate  or  harass  his 
young  wife.  He  thought  her  conduct  quite 
natural  and  quite  commendable.  It  looked 
so  to  me,  also,  at  that  time.  This  being 
the  case,  you  will  readily  see  how  it  came 
about  that  she,  point  by  point,  and  step 
by  step,  yielded  up  her  own  individuality 
upon  the  altar  of  our  egoism  and  made 
it  her  duty — and  I  still  hope  it  was  in  a 
measure  her  pleasure,  also — to  minister  to 
us  and  to  repress  whatever  stirrings  of  per 
sonal  opinion,  desire,  or  preference  she  may 
have  had. 

"At  first,  I  remember,  she  would  gaze 
silently,  for  long  period*,  out  of  the  win 
dow,  and  sigh.  One  day  she  said  to  me : 
'  Walter,  did  you  ever  have  an  intense 


172  His  Mothers  Boy. 

longing  to  get  away — somewhere?  Any 
where  ? ' 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  had,  Saint 
Katherine,"  I  replied,  using  the  name  she 
had  asked  me  to  join  my  father  in  apply 
ing  to  her.  It  was  the  second  time  I  had 
ventured  to  so  address  her,  notwithstand 
ing  her  request,  and  the  other  time  it  had 
been  used  with  my  father's  sportive  inflec 
tion.  That  day,  however,  her  sad  face  and 
strange  question  had  made  me  fear  that 
some  one  had  wounded  her,  and  I  instinct 
ively  used  the  name  with  a  kind  and  gen 
tle  tone  in  my  voice. 

"  She  turned  from  the  window,  and  faced 
me.  Her  lips  parted  and  closed  again. 
Suddenly  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
she  said,  with  a  trembling  lip : 

" '  Why,  Walter,  you  are  beginning  to 
like  me,  after  all !  I ' 

"  She  stopped  to  steady  herself,  and  I, 
young  brute  that  I  was,  laughed.  I  was 
sorry  a  moment  later,  but  I  had  not  un- 


His  Mothers   Boy.  173 

derstood  her  mood,  and  so  my  own  had 
cut  across  it  harshly.  She  had  turned  her 
face  to  the  window  again,  and  I  stepped 
to  her  side.  I  was  too  young,  and  awk 
ward  to  know  just  what  to  say  to  retrieve 
myself,  so  I  took  her  hand  in  my  own 
and  lifted  it  to  my  lips,  as  I  had  so  often 
seen  my  father  do.  She  did  not  move 
we  were  both  silent  for  a  long  time.  At 
last  I  said,  having  whipped  myself  up  to 
it: 

"  You  are  a  saint,  Katherine,  and  I  was 
a  brute  to  laugh.  I — I — didn't  mean  to 
hurt  you.  I" 

"  She  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck, 
and  sobbed  like  a  child.  It  was  the  first 
time  I  had  ever  seen  a  woman  weep.  I 
was  almost  as  tall  then  as  I  am  now,  and 
she  was  shorter  by  half  a  head  than  I. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  began  to 
feel  that  perhaps  father  and  I  were  not  the 
only  persons  in  the  household  who  should 
be  considered.  I  am  bound  to  say  that 


174  His  Mothers  Boy. 

my  thought  was  very  vague,  and  that  it  took 
scant  root,  for  her  emotion  touched  my 
sympathy,  and  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
back  the  tears  myself. 

"At  that  age,  I  should  have  looked 
upon  it  as  very  unmanly  to  weep,  and  so  I 
exerted  all  the  little  brain  I  had  command 
of,  to  keep  down  my  very  natural  emotion." 

He  paused,  but  I  ventured  to  make  no 
remark,  and  he  began  again ; 

"  I  think  she  mistook  my  silence — she 
was  but  a  few  years  older  than  I — and  so 
she  straightened  herself  up,  and  without 
another  word  left  the  room.  But  I  bore 
you,"  he  said,  breaking  off  abruptly. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  am  intensely 
interested.  Go  on." 

He  looked  at  me,  and  was  sure  of  my 
earnestness,  then  his  voice  resumed  the 
same  gently  reflective  tone  again; 

"She  did  not  come  down  to  dinner 
that  night,  and  father  only  remarked  that 
she  said  her  head  ached.  I  felt  guilty,  I 


His  Mother's  Boy.  175 

did  not  know  why,  or  what  about;  but 
somehow  I  felt  that  instead  of  helping 
things  on,  by  an  attempt  to  be  more 
friendly,  my  step-mother  and  I  had  suc 
ceeded  in  rendering  the  home  atmosphere 
even  less  clear  and  bright  than  it  was 
before. 

"  And  so  it  was.  She  attempted  no 
farther  confidences  with  me,  and  gave  her 
self  up  more  and  more  to  household  affairs. 
She  appeared  to  think  that  it  was  her 
duty  to  be  always  at  the  beck  and  call 
of  my  father,  and  if  she  planned  a  drive 
— of  which  she  was  fond — and  he  chanced 
to  come  in,  she  would  say  quietly  to  the 
groom: 

"'Take  the  horses  back,  I  shall  not  go 
now.  Mr.  Travers  may  need  me.  He  came 
in  a  moment  ago.' 

"She  was  all  ready  to  go  to  Boston 
one  day,  and  showed  more  eagerness  than 
I  had  seen  her  display  since  she  came  to 
us,  when  father  came  up  from  the  office, 


176  His  Mothers  Boy. 

bringing  with  him  a  guest  who  had  unex 
pectedly  arrived  from  the  West. 

"Saint  Katherine,  as  I  now  always  called 
her,  took  her  gloves  off  as  she  saw  them 
coming  up  the  walk,  and  before  they 
opened  the  door  her  hat  was  laid  aside.  I 
felt  sure  I  had  seen  her  lift  a  handker 
chief  to  her  eyes.  I  said: 

"'Confound  that  old  fellow, what  did  he 
have  to  come  to-day  for?  He  always  stays 
a  week,  too.  But  you  must  make  your  trip 
to  Boston  just  the  same.  We  can  manage 
as  we  used  to.' 

"She  looked  at  me  gratefully,  I  thought, 
but  again  restrained  herself,  and  said  noth 
ing  of  her  own  disappointment. 

"As  I  look  at  it  now,  it  seems  to  me 
she  never  had  her  own  way  about  any 
thing.  She  had  no  companionship,  but  such 
as  had  always  been  congenial  to  my  father, 
and  the  interests  and  aims  of  the  people 
about  us  were  new  to  her,  and  unlike  those 
of  her  old  home. 


His  Mothers  Boy.  177 

"At  last,  one  day,  I  saw  her  working 
on  a  little  garment.  She  hated  to  sew,  and 
a  new  light  dawned  upon  me.  I  think  I 
may  have  "been  actuated  by  jealousy;  but 
I  can  hardly  say  what  it  was  that  caused 
me  to  demand  more  of  her  time  and  at 
tention  after  that.  I  felt  that  the  time 
would  soon  come  when  father  and  I  would 
not  be  the  only  ones  to  claim  her  attention, 
and  perhaps  I  proceeded  upon  that  idea  to 
get  all  I  could  while  I  could. 

"'Won't  you  play  chess  with  me,  Saint 
Katherine?'  I  asked  that  afternoon.  'Oh, 
I  beg  pardon.  I  did  not  notice  the  car 
riage.  If  you  were  going  out,  go.'  I  said 
this  in  a  tone  that  showed  very  plainly 
that  I  would  be  deprived  of  my  pleasure 
if  she  should  go.  She  stayed.  I  beat  her 
at  chess,  and  was  happy. 

"As  time  wore  on — she  had  been  with 
us  over  a  year  now — her  suppressed  rest 
lessness  grew  more  apparent.  Even  my 
father  noticed  it,  and  told  her  that  for  the 


178  His  Mother's  Boy. 

child's  sake  she  should  keep  herself  well 
under  control.  I  was  outside  the  window 
when  he  said  it,  and  it  gave  me  a  new  idea. 

"'Yes/  she  said,  'I  suppose  so;  but  it 
seems  to  me  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  can't  go 
away  somewhere.  I  know  it  must  be  fool 
ish  and  wrong;  but  I  so  long  to  see  other 
places,  and* 

"'People?'  my  father  suggested,  not  un 
kindly.  But  I  remember  feeling  sorry  that 
he  said  it. 

"There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  she 
said  in  a  low,  self-accusing  voice,  'I  suppose 
it  is  all  wrong;  but  I  sJwuld  love  to  see 
some  of  the  people  I  used  to  know — or 
even  strangers,  who  are — who  are  not' — 
She  did  not  finish. 

"Presently  she  said:  'I  sometimes  think 
I  would  crawl  on  my  hands  and  knees  if 
only  I  might  go — if — don't  think  I  am  not 
satisfied.  It  is  not  that,  but' 

"  My  father's  voice  was  low  and  kind — 
although  he  presented  the  old,  and  as  I 


His  Mothers  Boy.  179 

now  believe,  injurious  idea  of  the  repres 
sion  and  control  of  natural  desire  for  the 
sake  of  the  child — and  I  walked  away. 

"The  next  day  I  said,  'Saint  Katherine, 
would  you  like  to  drive  over  to  Wilton 
to-day?  We  could  get  back  for  dinner  at 
seven. 

"  '  Oh,  how  nice  ! '  she  exclaimed,  with 
her  eyes  sparkling.  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  suggest  some  such  thing  every 
day,  but,  boy-like,  I  forgot  or  neglected  it. 

"We  went.  Her  pleasure  in  all  the 
new  faces  and  sights  was  almost  childish. 
She  was  starving  for  a  change  of  scene  and 
companionship,  and  even  such  as  she  might 
easily  have  had  she  often  denied  herself, 
from  an  overwrought  sense  of  duty." 

My  guest  got  upon  his  feet,  and  walked 
twice  across  the  room,  looking  in  at  the 
sick  child  as  he  passed  the  door. 

"  She  lived  only  two  years  longer,  and 
father  and  I  had  little  Ralph  to  bring  up 
the  best  we  could,  I  was  so  fond  of  the 


180  His  Mother's  Boy. 

little  fellow,  that  it  was  easy  for  me  to 
look  after  him,  and  the  nurse  was  not  often 
out  of  sight  or  hearing  of  either  father  or 
me,  but  she  had  to  carry  him  about  constant 
ly.  He  was  an  angel,  in  motion,  so  my 
father  said;  but  the  moment  he  was  kept 
quiet  or  still  he  was  anything  but  an  an 
gel.  He  would  have  his  own  way,  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  walk 
we  had  to  lock  the  door  of  his  room,  or 
he  would  slip  out  of  his  little  low  bed 
when  nurse  was  asleep,  and  scramble  down 
stairs  and  out  into  the  grounds  and  be  lost." 

I  began  to  see  new  meaning  in  the 
word  "  escape." 

"  Three  or  four  times  we  had  a  great 
fright  in  that  way.  Then  we  locked  the 
door.  As  he  grew  older  that  did  not  work. 
He  unlocked  it,  or  climbed  out  of  the  win 
dow. 

"  When  he  was  seven  years  old,  he  ran 
off,  and  got  as  far  as  Norton,  on  the  high 
way  to  Boston,  before  he  was  found.  He 


His  Mother's  Boy.  181 

was  tired  and  hungry,  and  footsore;  but  he 
was   trudging   steadily   on. 

"  A  farmer  picked  him  up  and  brought 
him  home.  Hardly  a  month  passed  from 
that  time  on  that  he  did  not  run  away.  I 
remember  the  first  time  I  found  him.  He 
was  sitting  by  the  railway  track,  eight  miles 
from  home,  waiting  for  the  west-bound  train. 
He  was  nearly  eight  years  old  then,  and 
as  handsome  a  child,  and  as  good  a  one 
in  other  ways,  as  you  often  meet.  I  struck 
him  that  time.  I  was  so  frightened.  You 
know  that  is  brute  instinct  to  strike  the 
thing  you  love  when  you  have  just  rescued 
it  from  danger.  I  rarely  ever  saw  a  mother 
snatch  her  child  out  of  danger  that  she  did 
not  either  strike  or  scold  it,  before  the  pallor 
of  anguish  at  the  thought  of  its  peril  had 
left  her  face.  It  is  a  strange  human  char 
acteristic.  I  have  often  tried  to  solve  its 
exact  meaning."  He  was  silent  so  long  that 
I  turned.  He  was  just  returning  from 
another  glance  into  the  boy's  room. 


1 82  His  Mothers  Boy. 

I  mumbled  assent,  and  he  resumed  his 
seat  by  the  table. 

"  But  to  go  back  to  the  boy.  He  looked 
up  at  me  in  terrified  surprise.  I  had  never 
struck  him  before.  Then  he  said: 

"'The  cars  would  have  come  in  ten  min 
utes.  That  man  said  so.  I  was  going  to 
-to'— 

"  '  You  were  going  to  Chicago,  I  sup- 
pose,'  I  said  indignantly,  as  the  train  thun 
dered  past,  a  moment  later. 

"  '  Chicago,  yes/  he  said,  brightening  up. 
I  think  that  was  the  first  time  he  knew 
where  he  was  bound  for. 

"Soon  after  that,  my  father  died.  Ralph 
promised  not  to  run  away  any  more,  and 
I  think  he  tried  to  keep  his  promise;  but 
in  less  than  six  months,  what  I  believe  to 
have  been  his  inheritance  from  the  starved 
and  repressed  nature  of  his  mother  got  the 
better  of  him  again,  and  he  escaped.  We 
could  trace  him  a  short  distance,  and  then 
all  clues  faded  out.  The  whole  village 


His  Mothers  Boy.  183 

turned  out,  and  day  and  night  we  looked. 
We  telegraphed  the  railway  men,  but  to  no 
purpose. 

"  At  last  we  gave  him  up.  We  con 
cluded  he  had  attempted  to  cross  the  river, 
and  had  been  drowned.  God,  how  I  lashed 
myself  for  having  struck  him !  " 

My  guest  wiped  the  moisture  from  his 
face  now,  and  sat  silent  for  a  long  time. 
My  wife  had  returned  from  the  sick-room 
a  moment  before,  and  seated  herself  in  the 
shadow.  He  did  not  appear  to  notice  that 
we  were  not  alone. 

"It  was  during  this  time  that  I  began 
to  think  out — blindly  and  vaguely — the  rea 
son  for  my  little  brother's  curious  mania," 
he  began  again.  My  wife  motioned  me  not 
to  call  his  attention  to  her.  "  His  mother 
had  refused  to  nature  all  that  it  plead  for 
of  personal  pleasure  and  self-gratification, 
and  starved  and  outraged  nature,  I  began 
to  believe,  had  transmitted  to  the  child,  not 
only  the  craving  that  had  gone  unsatisfied, 


1 84  His  Mother's  Boy. 

but  the  self-will  to  execute  it.  Boys,  you 
know,  are  not  trained  to  think  that  the 
world  was  made  for  woman,  with  man  an 
incident  in  her  life.  They  are  not  made 
to  feel  that  they  have  no  personality.  But 
their  desires,  their  ambitions,  their  person 
ality  as  individuals,  are  to  be  honored  and 
gratified,  if  possible,  and  so  the  general  trend 
of  thought  and  the  strength  of  will  fitted  well 
into  his  heredity — the  stamp  he  bore  of 
longing  for  the  change  she  never  had — 
and  so  I  grew  to  believe  that  he  traveled 
the  road  nature  had  laid  out  and  custom 
had  paved  for  him." 

I  could  see  my  wife's  eyes  grow  large 
and  intense,  as  she  bent  forward  to  listen. 

"It  was  five  weeks  before  we  heard  from 
him.  We  had  given  him  up  for  dead,  when 
he  walked  in  one  day,  and  frightened  the 
servants  almost  to  death. 

"I  did  not  strike  him  that  time.  I  had 
begun  to  think. 

"  He  told   me  that  night,  all  about  his 


His  Mother's  Boy.  185 

travels,  and  how  homesick  he  got.  It  was 
a  strange  tale,  and  broken  by  his  enthu 
siasm,  about  a  certain  circus  man  who  had 
been  kind  to  him,  and  cared  for  him  for 
several  days,  until  the  child,  under  the  spell 
of  his  hereditary  trait,  had  run  away  from 
his  new  friend." 

I  knew,  now,  what  the  word  "  escape  " 
had  meant  in  that  telegram,  and  my  wife 
nodded  to  me  with  the  same  thought  in 
her  mind. 

"  He  promised  to  stay  at  home,  after 
that,  and  said  he  was  very  sorry  that  I  had 
worried  so  much  about  him.  He  stayed 
quietly  with  us  nearly  a  year.  Then  he 
really  did  go  to  Chicago.  He  stole  or 
begged  rides  on  the  cars,  and  people  gave 
him  food.  He  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
police,  and  I  was  telegraphed  for.  They 
sent  for  me,  and  I  brought  him  home.  He 
was  ragged  and  repentant.  That  was  last 
Christmas.  I  gave  him  a  new  pony,  upon 
his  solemn  promise  not  to  ride  more  than 


1 86  His  Mother's  Boy. 

five  miles  from  home  without  the  groom 
or  me.  He  said  that  was  all  he  wanted. 
He  was  sure  of  it,  and  I  hoped  the  sense 
of  freedom — of  going  on  his  own  horse,  and 
where  and  when  he  wished — would  keep  his 
mania  in  check. 

"  I  had  hopes  that  after  he  should  be 
thirteen  or  fourteen  years  old  he  would  out 
grow  it,  and  I  have  been  trying  to  tide 
him  over  to  that  time.  I  have  tried,  too, 
all  along,  in  my  rather  immature  way,  to 
arouse  his  sense  of  honor  and  responsibil 
ity  toward  me.  But  the  ideas  conveyed  by 
those  words  have  seemed  to  strike  sympa 
thetic  but  disabled  chords  in  his  nature. 
His  mother's  over-taxed  self-repression  and 
sense  of  duty  to  others,  her  lack  of  com 
prehension  of  self-duty  and  personal  value, 
has  reacted  in  her  boy,  to  restore  the  bal 
ance  to  Nature,  and  he  is  swept  into  the 
path  of  her  repression  with  a  force  beyond 
his  power  to  check. 

"I  have  grown   to  feel  that  father  and 


His  Mother  s  Boy.  187 

I,  in  our  egotistic  blindness,  helped  to  stamp 
the  boy  with  his  uncomfortable  inheritance, 
and  now  I  must  bide  my  time,  and  act 
as  wisely  and  as  kindly  as  I  can." 

"You  seem  to  have  been  very  thought 
ful  and  studious,"  I  ventured.  "  It  is  a  puz 
zling  case,  and  a  new  idea  to  me." 

"  My  study  of  anthropology  helped  me, 
I  suppose,"  he  replied,  rising  nervously  to 
pace  the  floor  again. 

"It  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  poor  little 
Ralph  that  I  took  that  for  my  life-work. 
It  has  helped  me  to  read  between  the  lines 
for  him,  and  to  be  wise  with  him  beyond 
my  years,  perhaps.  I  have  always  been  glad 
of  that." 

He  had  paused  near  the  bed-room  door, 
but  he  had  not  seen  my  wife  as  she  sat 
in  the  shadow. 

"  His  pony  was  all  right  for  a  time ; 
but  when  he  heard  me  read — I  was  a  fool 
to  do  it — of  the  railroad  strikes  in  Albany, 
it  was  too  much  for  him.  His  five  miles 


1 88  His  Mothers  Boy. 

stretched  into  twenty,  and  then,  I  fancy, 
some  unscrupulous  fellow  told  him  he  would 
give  him  a  ticket  to  Albany  in  exchange 
for  his  horse.  It  was  too  much  for  him. 
No  doubt  he  parted  with  poor  Gyp  with 
a  sob,  and  climbed  aboard  the  train.  And 
to  think  that  it  should  have  been  poor  lit 
tle  Ralph,  whose  curiosity  and  ignorance 
took  him  where  he  received  the  murder 
ous  Pinkerton  bullet  and  that  cruel  blow 
on  the  head.  Poor  little  chap!  I  cannot 
believe  he  will  die,  though  his  chances  are 
very  slim,  very  slim,  indeed,"  he  said,  sad 
ly,  as  he  turned  to  enter  the  sick-room. 

A  cry  escaped  him.  I  sprang  to  my 
feet  in  time  to  see  him  catch  to  his  breast 
the  little  white  form  that  had  staggered 
silently  into  the  room. 

"Brother!"  the  weak  little  voice  cried 
in  delight,  and  he  then  fainted  again.  The 
doctor  laid  him  in  his  bed  gently,  and  my 
wife  bent  over  him. 

"That  means  that  he  is  better,  doctor," 


His  Mother's  Boy.  189 

she  said  in  a  voice  that  tried  to  be  con 
fident  and  cheery.  "  He  has  known  no  one 
before  since  we  brought  him  home.  What 
a  lovely  face  he  has ! " 

"Yes,  he  has  his  mother's  own  face," 
he  replied  with  a  sigh.  "  She  was  a  lovely 
woman,  and,  alas !  she  was  the  victim  of 
her  own  virtues — as  he  is." 

"  I  fancy  my  wife  will  question  your  stand 
ard  of  virtues,"  I  said,  as  we  returned  to  the  li 
brary  some  time  after.  He  smiled  more  light 
ly  than  I  had  yet  seen  him,  and  turned  to  her. 

"  I  question  that  myself,  madam — as  an 
anthropologist  and  a  student  of  heredity." 

"  You  do  not  think,  then,  that  the  cre 
ative  or  character-moulding  parent  can  af 
ford  to  risk  self-effacement  and  subserviency 
of  intellect  and  position  ?  "  she  asked  dryly. 

"Not  unless  we  wish  to  continue  a  sub 
servient  and  incompetent  race,  which  shall 
be  dominated  by  power  cruelly  used,"  he 
replied,  looking  steadily  at  her.  Then  he 
added,  smiling: 


190  His  Mother  s  Boy. 

"This  I  speak,  as  Saint  Paul  might  say, 
not  as  a  man,  but  as  an  anthropologist. 
I  am  still  a  little  bit  in  the  position  of 
the  brave  apostle,  too.  The  'natural  man' 
and  the  scientific  are  at  war  within  me.  The 
one  cries,  'Travers,  you  would  like  for  your 
wife  and  daughters  to  be  sweetly,  confiding 
ly  dependent  upon  you,  and  to  live  for  and 
because  of  you;  to  be  unselfish,  and  self-sac 
rificing,'  and  I  reply,  'I  love  it  dearly;  it 
is  a  sweet  and  holy  idea  to  me.'  Then 
the  scientific  man  remarks,  'Doctor,  are  you 
not  providing  for  a  basis  of  character  and 
heredity  which  shall  make  your  children  the 
victims  of  your  egotism?'  And  the  doc 
tor  bows  assent." 

My  wife  laughed   softly,  and   stepped   to 
the   inner   door. 

"  He  is  better,"  she  said,  coming  back. 
"He  is  sleeping  naturally  for  the  first  time." 
Then  she  stepped  quickly  to  the  doctor's 
side,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  He  will  not  need  a  mother  much  while 


His  Mother  s  Boy.  191 

the  anthropologist  lives  with  you;  but  if  he 
ever  should,  send  him  to  me." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  as  there 
were  in  those  of  our  guest.  He  held  her 
hand  a  moment,  and  then  turned  abruptly 
and  left  the  room. 

An  hour  later  there  stood  on  my  wife's 
desk  a  handsome  bunch  of  roses,  and  my 
wife  only  smiled. 

"  Shall  you  say  anything  more  about  it?" 
I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  There  is  no  need. 
He  will  send  the  boy  when  he  grows  rest 
less  at  home,  I  am  sure  of  that  now. 
These  roses  are  my  answer.  Perhaps,  be 
tween  the  two,  we  can  satisfy  his  travel 
ing  instinct.  What  a  mercy  it  was  not 
something  worse !  " 

"  What  ?  "   I   asked,   in   astonishment. 

"I  heard  the  whole  story,"  she  said, 
"and  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  his 
theory  would  account  for  a  good  many 
things  in  the  world.  It  is  the  exact  oppo- 


i  92  His  Mother  s  Boy. 

site  of  the  usual  one.  Woman  has  been 
taught  that  to  repress  and  keep  in  check 
nature  will  make  her  child  strong  and 
destroy  in  it  the  development  of  unrea 
sonable  appetite — as  for  drink  or  murder. 
His  idea  seems  to  be  that  undue  repression, 
as  surely  as  undue  indulgence,  will  make 
its  heavy  mark  on  the  plastic  nature  form 
ing.  Perhaps  that  is  true.  Nature  struggles 
to  restore  the  balance.  How  do  we  know 
that  murder  in  the  heart,  though  it  be  re 
pressed,  may  not  account  for  many  a  trag 
edy  in  the  next  generation?  Who  knows 
but  a  run-down  system  depriving  itself  of 
stimulants  it  craves  may  not  account  for 
the  yearning  born  in  many  a  man  for  such 

stimulants?    Who  knows  but" 

My  wife  stopped.    Presently  she  said : 
"  He  scared  me  almost  to  death  as  he  devel 
oped  that  idea  in  my  mind.    What  a  lot  we 
have  got  to  learn  of  it  all,  even  if  he  is  wrong ! " 
"Don't  learn  it,"   I  said    laughing.     "It 
will  tire  you  out." 


His  Mothers  Boy.  193 

"It  tires  me  out  not  to,"  she  said.  "I 
am  going  to  study  anthropology." 

Two  weeks  later  she  said: 

"The  books  are  so  stupid.  They  assume 
everything  and  they  prove  nothing,  because 
their  assumptions  are  all  wrong.  I'm  go 
ing  to  ask  Dr.  Travers  to  write  from  his 
premises,  and  see  if  he  can't  stir  up  a  little 
less  obscure  and  complacent  thought.  Even 
if  he  is  not  on  the  right  track,  it  will  do 
these  stupid  moles  good.  They  get  no 
where  because  they  start  wrong." 

"Better  write  one  yourself,"  I  suggested, 
smiling. 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  don't 
know  enough  about  it." 

"Oh,"  I  called  after  her,  as  she  left  the 
room.  "I  didn't  suppose  a  knowledge  of  the 
subject  to  be  written  upon  was  at  all  neces 
sary.  What  a  ridiculous  conscience  you 
have,  Eva." 

She  has  not  mentioned  it  since,  but  I 
do  not  believe  she  takes  my  flippancy  as 


194  His  Mother  s  Boy. 

in  good  taste.  Anyhow,  I  have  dropped  the 
subject  of  heredity  with  the  feeling  that  I 
had  got  perilously  near  a  buzz-saw  in  motion, 


MR.  WALK-A-LEG  ADAMS 
'MEETS  UP  WITH"  A  TARTAR. 


"Fool.    I  had  rather  be  any  kind  of  thing  than 
a  fool." 

"Kent.    This  is  not  altogether  fool,  my  lord. 

"Fool,  No,  'faith  lords  and  great  men  will  not  let 
me;  if  I  had  a  monopoly  out,  they  would  have  part 
on't:  and  ladies  too,  they  will  not  let  me  have  all 

fool  to  myself;  they'll  be  snatching." 

SHAKESPEARE. 


MR.  WALK-A-LEG  ADAMS  "  MEETS 
UP  WITH"  A  TARTAR. 

• 

TN  any  other  part  of  the  country  with 
which  I  am  acquainted  it  would  be 
said  that  Mr.  Walk-a-leg  Adams  overtook  a 
Tartar;  but  to  distinguish  between  the  two 
ideas  intended  to  be  conveyed  when  you 
say,  "I  met  in  the  road  to-day  a  certain 
person,"  or,  "I  overtook  in  the  road  to-day 
a  certain  person,"  the  Southern  people  of 
whom  I  write  would  say,  "  I  met  up  with," 
to  express  the  latter  fact. 

The  information  of  the  meeting  is  im 
parted  by  the  usual  word;  while  the  idea 
that  you  were  going  the  same  way  when 
the  meeting  took  place  is  briefly  conveyed 
by  the  words  "up  with." 

It  sounds  strange  enough,  no  doubt,  to 
unaccustomed  ears,  but  there  are  those  who 


2OO  Mr.   Walk-a-leg  Adams 

assert  that  it  fills  those  first  of  all  requi 
sites  of  correct  and  forcible  speech — brevity 
and  definiteness.  So  when  I  say  that  Mr. 
Walk-a-leg  Adams  "met  tip  with"  a  Tar 
tar,  I  make  use  of  a  localism,  it  is  true; 
but  is  it  not  a  localism  which  has  a  dis 
tinct  value  of  a  nature  which  gives  it  a 
right  not  only  to  exist,  but  to  be  seriously 
considered  as  well? 

But,  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  quite  cer 
tain  that  when  Mr.  Walk-a-leg  Adams 
sauntered  out  into  the  big  road  from  be 
hind  the  huge  woodpile  which  formed  the 
chief  feature  of  the  variously  shaped  col 
lections  of  logs  which  composed  his  home, 
he  had  no  idea  of  the  exciting  events  in 
which  he  was  about  to  take  an  active  part, 
and  which  were  henceforth  to  constitute  a 
memorable  chapter  in  the  history  of  his 
neighborhood,  as  well  as  the  most  tremen 
dous  and  far-reaching  event  of  his  whole 
career. 

Indeed,  it  is   to  be   seriously  doubted  if 


"Meets   Up    With"  a   Tartar.          201 

Mr.  Walk-a-leg  Adams  had  had  any  very 
distinct  ideas  on  any  subject  whatever  on 
that  morning,  or  on  any  other  morning  of 
his  pathetically  deficient  life. 

There  was  a  legend  in  the  neighbor 
hood  that  the  poor  demented  fellow's  name 
was  John  Quincy,  and  that  he  was  one  of 
the  saddest  illustrations  of  degeneracy  to 
be  met  with  in  all  the  sickening  records  of 
decadence  from  a  one-time  splendid  ancestry. 

But,  however  that  may  be,  in  these  days 
he  was  known  by  three  of  the  eight  words 
which  formed  his  entire  vocabulary. 

Why  these  particular  eight  words 
chanced  to  be  the  ones  which  fastened 
themselves  upon  the  .darkened  intellect  and 
vocal  cords  of  this  physical  giant  it  would 
be  impossible  to  say ;  but  certain  it  is  that 
" God-a'mighty  walk  a  leg  hands  is  that" 
formed  the  entire  linguistic  stock-in-trade 
of  one  of  the  best  farm  "hands"  to  be 
had  in  the  county. 

It   is   very   much   to   be   doubted  if  his 


2O2  Mr.    Walk-a-leg  Adams 

mental  equipment  extended  over  even  so 
wide  a  field  as  his  vocabulary,  for  it  is 
quite  beyond  question  that  whatever  mean 
ing  the  poor  fellow  may  have  originally 
attached  to  the  words  themselves  had  long 
since  vanished,  and  that  they  were  now 
used  merely  as  a  means  of  vocalization. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  when  he  was 
very  greatly  astonished,  frightened,  or  pleased, 
the  emphasis  did  change  places,  and  in  ex 
treme  cases  the  "a'mighty"  was  pronounced 
in  full  and  with  varying  degrees  of  intensity. 

There  was  a  large  family  of  these 
Adams  giants ;  but  when  the  farmers  there 
about  wanted  the  strongest,  most  willing, 
and  least  troublesome  "hand,"  in  the  har 
vest-field  or  at  the  cider-press,  they  engaged 
Walk-a-leg,  even  if  they  had  to  send  for  him 
and  take  him  home  again  each  day — as  was 
often  the  case — unless  one  of  his  somewhat 
more  rational  brothers  was  employed  at  the 
same  time  to  remind  him  of  his  engagement 
by  taking  him  to  fill  it. 


" Meets   Up    With"  a   Tartar.          203 

But  much  of  the  year  this  simple  giant 
roamed  about  aimlessly,  ate  where  he  chanced 
to  find  himself  at  meal-time,  and  slept  on 
the  best  bed  at  hand  when  sleep  overtook 
him. 

His  harmlessness  was  taken  for  granted, 
and  comments  on,  discussions  about,  and 
differences  of  opinion  over  his  verbal  vaga 
ries  served  to  eke  out  many  a  case  of  oral 
gymnastics — commonly  called  by  the  partici 
pants  therein  "  conversation  " — which  had 
drifted  on  to  the  arid  banks  of  rural  limita 
tions,  and  promised  to  be  a  hopeless  wreck 
until  this  timely  rescue  once  more  started 
the  aimless  and  fragile  bark  upon  its  infinite 
wanderings. 

But  when  Mr.  Walk-a-leg  Adams  started 
out  that  day,  he  had,  so  far  as  I  can  tell,  no 
definite  object  in  view;  but  it  is  certain  that 
when  he  "met  up  with"  a  lady  whom  he 
had  never  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  before, 
his  delight  was  unmistakable  and  unbound 
ed.  To  meet  with  a  stranger — to  say  nothing 


2O4  Mr.    Walk-a-leg  Adams 

of  that  stranger  being  a  woman — was  to  him 
a  rare  and  altogether  delightful  experience. 

From  the  moment  he  had  seen,  in  the 
distance,  a  form  which  had  not  the  familiar 
lines  of  any  women  of  his  limited  acquaint 
ance,  he  had  swung  his  powerful  legs  at  a 
rate  to  make  him  "meet  up"  very  soon,  with 
a  much  swifter  traveller  than  Miss  Alfaretta 
Bangs  had  ever  been — even  in  her  younger 
days,  before  the  neuralgic  twinges  had  set 
tled  with  so  much  energy  about  her  decided 
and  always  self-assertive  joints. 

So  when  this  great,  muscular,  good-na 
tured  fellow  shot  past  her,  and  then  sud 
denly  turned  about  and  remarked,  with  cor 
dial  friendliness,  "  God-a'mighty-walk-a-leg- 
hands-is-that ! "  she  was  naturally  somewhat 
astonished,  and  not  altogether  unreasonably, 
I  think,  doubted  if  she  had  heard  correctly 
the  full  purport  of  his  remark. 

"Howdy,"  she  said,  with  that  perfunctory 
inflection  common  to  those  who  greet  all 
whom  they  may  meet  in  the  road  as  a  mere 


" Meets    Up    With"  a   Tartar.          205 

matter  of  course,  and  not  at  all  as  a  matter 
of  acquaintance. 

He  grinned,  but  continued  to  stand  ex 
actly  in  front  of  her,  and  remarked — this 
time  with  much  emphasis,  and  slapping  his 
left  leg  vigorously  as  he  did  so — "God- 
a'mighty,  walk-a-leg J '"  possibly  with  some 
vague  idea  in  his  helpless  brain  of  express 
ing  by  means  of  the  emphasis,  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  compelled  to  travel  with  undue 
rapidity  in  order  to  make  her  acquaintance 
at  all. 

This  time  there  was  no  doubt  in  her 
mind  that  she  had  heard  correctly,  and  that 
this  profane  Hercules  meant  to  do  her  a  mis 
chief,  or,  at  the  very  least,  to  offer  her  a 
gratuitous  insult. 

But  Miss  Alfaretta  Bangs  had  not  taught 
school  in  the  "  mountings  "  for  fifteen  years 
for  nothing,  and  she  did  not  intend  that 
her  prospects  of  securing  a  school  in  this 
neighborhood — where  she  was  as  yet  a  stran- 


2o6  Mr.    Walk-a-leg  Adams 

ger — should  be  destroyed  by  a  display  of  the 
white  feather  now. 

Indeed  she  strongly  suspected  that  this 
wicked  giant  was  one  of  the  very  young 
fellows  whom  she  would  be  called  upon  to 
teach — in  the  event  of  securing  the  school — 
and  that  her  identity  being  known  to  him 
was  the  circumstance  to  which  she  owed 
this  present  impertinence. 

As  I  have  before  hinted,  Miss  Alfaretta 
Bangs  was  not  timid. 

She  had  had  experience. 

She  drew  herself  up  to  a  sinuous  height, 
not  far  below  his  own,  and,  with  a  single 
sweep  of  an  arm  not  unaccustomed  to  the 
vigorous  use  of  the  birch  rod  of  no  small 
proportions,  brought  the  back  of  a  hand — 
soft  and  small  at  no  time  in  her  life — 
into  violent  contact  with  the  half-open  and 
wholly  surprised  mouth  of  her  admirer. 

"All  mighty!  walkaleg/z^/zdj  is  that!" 
exclaimed  he,  jumping  fully  three  feet  and 
spreading  a  propitiatory,  albeit  an  appreciative 


"Meets   Up   With"  a   Tartar.          207 

smile,  over  a  countenance  not  wholly  un 
used  to  familiarities  of  an  ungentle  nature, 
offered  in  rough,  but  well-meant  jest  by 
his  fellow-laborers. 

"  Wai,  hit  war  my  han',  ef  yo'  mus'  ax," 
exclaimed  she,  in  irate  astonishment  that 
he  did  not  attempt  to  resent  the  blow.  "  An' 
ef  I  do  walk  on  my  legs  hit  air  none  er 
yo'  call  fer  to  meet  up  with  me  an'  low 
ter  cuss  me  fer  hit.  They  air  my  legs,  an' 
they  air  a'most  es  servigerous  es  my  han's 
ef  ye  oncet  gits  erquainted  with  'em.  Don' 
y'  stan'  thar'n  grin  at  me,  ye  cussin'  eg- 
iot ! "  she  added,  her  wrath  waxing  with 
his  growing  effort  at  conciliation. 

"  Git  outen  my  road !  "  she  commanded, 
"an'  try  yer  cussin'  skeer  on  some  er  these 
yer  saft  critters  thet  ain't  teeched  school  ter 
mo'  rantankerous  egiots  than  y'  ever  see  in 
these  yer  diggins,  'n  haint  been  skeered  er 
none  o'  ye  yit,  nuther.  The  fack  air  I've 
whalloped  mo'  survigerous  egiots  than  what 
y'  air,  befo'  yo'  mammy  fetched  y'  outen  pan- 


2o8  Mr.    Walk-a-leg  Adams 

terlets.  I've  tuk  the  hull  hide  offen  bigger 
'n  yo',"  she  concluded,  triumphantly. 

Her  frequent  use  of  the  word  idiot  had 
no  relation  to  this  particular  case ;  nor  did 
she  guess  at  any  time  during  the  interview 
that  the  poor  fellow  was  really  more  lack 
ing  in  mental  qualifications  than  the  ordi 
nary  male  biped,  all  of  whom,  she  was 
thoroughly  of  opinion,  were  more  or  less 
wanting  in  those  endowments  which  indi 
cate  a  sound  mind  and  a  correct  judgment. 

"  God  tf//migh&r  /  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Ad 
ams,  in  evident  relish  of  her  vigorous  tones 
and  energetic  gestures,  as  he  brought  one 
powerful  fist  down  into  the  other  tremen 
dous  palm,  with  a  resounding  thwack  that 
had  a  perceptible  effect  upon  the  nerves — a 
heretofore  unknown  possession-of  the  an 
cient  maiden  before  him. 

"Don'  y'  God  a'mighty  me,  ye  cussin' 
coot !  "  exclaimed  she,  recovering  herself,  as 
she  was  about  to  turn  and  ignominiously 
flee.  "Don'  y'  God  a'mighty  me,  er  I'll  thes 


"Meets  Up   With"  a  Tartar.          209 

lay  y'  plum  ouwt ! "  And  she  started  toward 
him  as  if  to  carry  her  threat  into  imme 
diate  execution;  but  the  great  ^foolish  fel 
low  backed  dexterously  along,  immediately 
in  front  of  her,  at  a  rate  calculated  to  do 
justice  to  her  best  qualities  as  a  pedestrian 
of  no  mean  ability. 

The  exercise,  the  novel  situation,  her 
extraordinary  excitement  and  now  rapidly 
dawning  fear  appeared  to  give  him  the  keen 
est  delight. 

No  one  had  ever  thought  of  getting 
angry  with  Walk-a-leg  Adams,  and  he  was 
therefore  having  a  new,  and  to  him,  appar 
ently  charming  experience. 

He  backed  along  like  a  great  crawfish, 
laughing  uproariously,  and  from  time  to  time 
giving  vent  to  one  or  another  section  of 
his  cherished  vocabulary,  the  while  slapping 
with  his  enormous  palm  those  huge  and  en 
ergetic  means  of  locomotion — which  swung 
like  great  pendulums  from  his  hip-joints — 
with  a  vigor  which  indicated  an  abiding  con- 


2io  Mr.   Walk-a-leg  Adams 

fidence  in  the  tenacity  of  the  muscles  of 
articulation  of  both  the  member  attacking 
and  the  member  attacked. 

But  whichever  part  of  his  scant  ling 
uistic  store  he  employed  to  give  vent  to  his 
feelings,  it  gave  Miss  Bangs  a  fresh  im 
pulse  to  catch  him  and  break  as  many  of 
his  bones  as  it  might  lay  in  her  power  to  frac 
ture  before  he  could  make  good  his  escape. 

Once  she  stopped  long  enough  to  pick 
up  a  large  and  wicked-looking  club,  which 
only  added  ecstasy  to  her  tormentor  and 
intensified  the  emphasis  upon  his  best-loved 
words. 

"A'mighta?/"  yelled  he  in  a  transport  of 
admiration  for  her  humor  in  this  new  game 
they  were  inventing  together;  "A'migh&r/ 
Walk-a-/^,"  laughed  he,  slapping  his  great 
thigh,  and  raising  therefrom  a  perfect  cloud 
of  dust  previously  collected  by  his  brown 
jean  trousers  from  barn-floors  and  hay 
mows,  where  his  recent  sittings  and  sleep- 
ings  had  taken  place. 


"Meets  Up   With"  a  Tartar.          211 

"I'll  A'mighty  you!  I'll  walkaleg  you! 
ef  I  ketch  y'  oncet—  'n'  I'll  ketch  y'  yit 
Yll  back  inter  sutnpin'  er  nuther  yit,  'n' 
'fore  y'  git  up  I'll  break  every  las'  bone 
in  yer  wuthless  cayrcass,"  gasped  she,  out 
of  breath. 

The  rage  and  exercise  were  telling  on 
her  greatly. 

Presently  she  struck  her  foot  on  a  stone 
that  he  had  dextrously  backed  over,  and 
fell  sprawling  in  the  dust. 

Instantly  the  great,  uncouth,  tender-heart 
ed  fellow  was  by  her  side,  and,  stooping 
over  her  prostrate  form,  inquired  in  the  gen 
tlest,  most  anxious  and  sympathetic  tones, 
"Walk-a-leg?  Hands  is  that?"  at  the  same 
time  attempting  to  lift  her  bodily  in  his  arms 
with  the  care  and  solicitude  with  which  a 
young  mother  might  lift  a  hurt  child. 

Quick  as  a  flash  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
nimbly  avoiding  his  arms,  and  brought  the 
heavy  club — still  tightly  clutched  in  both 
hands — with  a  tremendous  crash  down  upon 


212  Mr.    Walk-a-leg  Adams 

the  poor  fellow's  bent  head,  and  leaving  him 
lying  by  the  side  of  her  club,  she  strode 
triumphantly  on  to  the  village,  in  the  firm 
belief  that  she  had  but  justly  freed  herself 
from  what  she  had  come  to  believe  was  a 
real  danger. 

Shortly  thereafter,  Mr.  Walk-a-leg  Adams 
appeared — after  having  undergone  such  rude 
surgery  for  a  fractured  skull  as  the  neigh 
borhood  afforded — with  his  head  tied  up,  a 
dazed  look  of  dawning  intelligence  on  his 
countenance,  and,  much  to  the  astonishment 
and  deep  mystification  of  his  sympathetic 
family  and  neighbors,  with  his  vocabulary 
enriched  by  three  more  words,  the  purport 
of  which  did  not  enlighten  his  friends  as 
to  the  origin  of  his  broken  skull. 

The  three  words  he  acquired  with  such 
unexpected  suddenness  appeared,  however, 
to  have  more  relation  to  the  subject-matter 
in  hand  than  had  his  previous  utterances, 
and  were  the  index  of  a  correspondingly 
more  lucid  mental  condition. 


"Meets  Up   With"  a  Tartar.          213 

The  words  were  "old  she-devil"  pronounced 
with,  much  emphasis  and  with  no  percep 
tible  preference  for  either  of  them. 

Indeed,  they  each  seemed  to  relieve  his 
mind  greatly,  and  the  combination  was  so  par 
ticularly  satisfactory  that  he  repeated  it  for 
some  days  with  the  regularity  of  a  clock, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  a  new  convert. 

From  that  time  he  grew  in  grace,  ad 
ding — very  slowly,  it  is  true,  but  steadily 
— to  his  little  stock  of  English,  as  well  as  to 
his  dawning  wits ;  and  when  I  saw  him  last 
— which  was  three  years  later — he  impressed 
me  as  a  not  altogether  stupid,  but  rather 
slow,  very  good-natured,  and  somewhat  talk 
ative  fellow,  with  a  fear  of  nothing  on  this 
earth  but  women. 

He  had  fought  and  killed — even  in  his 
more  benighted  days — many  a  bear ;  it  had 
always  been  a  delight  to  him  to  conquer  a 
rattlesnake ;  but  if  a  sun-bonnet  appeared 
above  the  horizon  Mr.  Walk-a-leg  Adams 
precipitately  withdrew. 


214  Mr.   Walk-a-leg  Adams 

In  going  to  and  from  his  work,  it  was 
his  invariable  habit  to  leave  the  "big  road" 
to  such  as  dared  encounter  its  terrors;  he 
crossed  the  fields  or  traveled  through  tan 
gles  where  nothing  more  dangerous  and  vi 
cious  lurked  than  an  occasional  panther  and 
a  not-at-all  infrequent  moccasin. 

With  these  he  was  at  home;  he  knew 
their  tricks.  But  on  a  highway  infested, 
as  it  might  be,  by  a  Miss  Alfaretta  Bangs, 
he  was  convinced  that  no  man  was  safe. 

To  this  view  he  held  strenuously,  and 
therefore  invariably  chose  the  lesser  dangers 
of  the  primitive  forest. 

And  yet  it  was  undoubtedly  due  to  the 
touch  of  her  magic  wand  that  Mr.  Adams 
had  come  to  be  invariably  spoken  of,  by 
those  who  knew  him,  as  "he,"  whereas  they 
had  previously  designated  him  as  "  it." 

So  little  did  he  realize  the  source  of  his 
benefits  that,  from  having  previously  been 
an  indiscriminate  adorer  of  the  sex,  it  came 
to  pass,  after  that  momentous  day  when  he 


"Meets    Up   With"  a  Tartar.         215 

underwent  the  mysterious  change,  as  a  re 
sult  of  having  "met  up  with"  a  Tartar  and 
attempted — by  means  of  a  somewhat  too 
limited  vocabulary,  and  one  not  possessed 
of  that  continuity  of  ideas  which  the  oc 
casion  appeared  to  demand — to  make  friends 
with  her  on  general  principles,  and  with 
out  an  adequate  comprehension  of  the  sit 
uation  by  either  party  to  the  fray,  that  he 
could  never  thereafter  be  persuaded  to  look 
upon  any  woman  as  other  than  a  great  and 
imminent  danger. 


ONYX  AND  GOLD. 


"A  man  may  see  how  this  world  goes  with  no  eyes. 
Look   with   thine    ears ;  see    how    yon'    justice   rails 

upon  yon*   simple  thief. 
Hark,  in  thine  ear ;  change  places ;  and,  handy-dandy, 

which    is  the  justice,  which  the  thief? 

"Through  tatter' d  clothes,  small  vices  do  appear; 
Robes,  and  furr'd  gowns,  hide  all.    Plate  sin  with  gold, 
And  the  strong  lance  of  justice    hurtless  breaks ; 
Arm  it  in  rags,   a  pigmy's  straw  doth  pierce  it." 

SHAKESPEARE. 

"The  wild  beast  is  slumbering  in  us  all.    It  is  not 
necessary    always  to   invoke   insanity  to    explain    its 

awakening." 

SPITZKA. 


ONYX  AND   GOLD. 

«  T  \ID  it  ever  strike  you  how  many 
thieves  succeed  in  securing  respect 
able  partners,  and  how  very  often  the  law 
of  the  land  is  wholly  on  the  side  of  the  pil 
fering  gentry  and  against  their  victims  ? " 
asked  the  Prosecuting  Attorney  as  he  sat 
fingering  the  frail  stem  of  the  wine-glass 
which  sat  on  the  dainty  cloth  before  him. 
It  was  at  Delmonico's,  and  the  four  gentle 
men  were  in  evening  dress. 

"  Of  course,  it  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  say 
that  sort  of  thing  publicly,  but  it  is  odd  that 
men  like  you  should  never  have  thought  of 
it.  Any  other  incongruity  from  the  clumsy 
airs  of  a  stage  beauty  up  to" 

"  Up  to  the  absurdity  of  serving  that  de 
licious  wine  to  a  fellow  like  you,  who  has 
no  more  sensitive  palate  than — than — an 


222  Onyx  and  Gold. 

amateur  artist,"  broke  in  young  Fenton, 
laughing  at  his  own  attempt  at  a  blind 
pun.  "You  may  appreciate  root-beer  to  the 
full,  but,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  drink 
this  as  if  it  were  a  decoction  of  herbs. 
Look!"  He  held  his  glass  up  to  the  light 
and  watched  the  sparkle  with  the  eye  of  a 
lover. 

"It's  tip-top,  and  no  mistake,  Fen;  but 
I  was  so  interested  in  and  stirred  by  the 
remark  I  heard  that  rascal  at  the  last  table 
make  as  he  passed  us  that  I  really  must 
confess  to  a  fit  of  abstraction — or  indiffer 
ence,  rather — as  I  drank  that  glass.  No  dis 
respect  to  the  wine  intended,  old  fellow." 

They  all  glanced  toward  the  table  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room,  and  a  ripple  of  curiosity 
began  to  arise  in  their  minds. 

"  Hadn't  noticed  him,"  remarked  Bowman 
languidly,  gazing  at  the  stranger  through 
gold-bowed  glasses. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  us  that  he  is 
one  of  the  light-fingered  gentry,  or  a  candi- 


Onyx  and  Gold.  22$ 

date  for  the  penitentiary  on  the  Court  docket, 
as  you  call  it,"  said  Fenton,  with  a  touch  of 
real  surprise  and  curiosity  as  he  slowly  re 
placed  his  glass  upon  the  table. 

"  Elbowing  the  criminal  classes  at  Del's  is 
a  new  order  of  things,  isn't  it,"  smiled  the 
genial  Political  Idol  who  sat  on  the  Prose 
cutor's  right. 

''  Well,  that  depends  upon  whom  you  are 
pleased  to  -classify  that  way,"  replied  the 
man  of  law,  grimly.  Then,  laughing  a  little, 
"but,  no,  I  shouldn't  say  it  was  a  new  order 
of  things — only  a  new  nomenclature — and 
there  really  is  a  good  deal  in  a  name,  after 
all.  Call  that  fellow  a  young  blood  who  is 
sowing  his  wild  oats,  or  a  society  favorite 
who  plays  a  bit  high  for  his  means,  or  men 
tion  him  as  an  unlucky  gentleman  of  leisure, 
and  he  is  accepted  at  par — away  above  par 
value,  indeed,  by  all  of  us.  But  if  I  say 
that  he  is  a  conscienceless  young  scamp, 
who  is  living  the  life  of  a  low  debauchee, 
or  that  he  is  a  professional  gambler  who 


224  Onyx  and  Gold. 

plays  with  money  that  is  not  his  own  and 
ruins  those  who  confide  in  him ;  or  if  I  casu 
ally  remark  that  there  sits  a  young  fellow 
who  never  did  a  useful  thing  in  his  life, 
and  has  no  more  idea  of  ethics  than  a — 
than  a  boiled  lobster — why,  society,  includ 
ing  all  of  us,  casts  suspicious  glances  at 
him,  and  suggests  that  he  is  out  of  place 
in  the  company  of  respectable  gentlemen. 
Yet  it's  all  a  mere  matter  of  terminology. 
Dig  for  the  meaning  in  either  case  and 
you'll  find  exactly  the  same  root.  It's  all 
one.  I " 

The  Political  Idol  burst  into  a  merry 
peal  of  laughter. 

"  Fairly  sold !  "  he  exclaimed.  " '  Pon  my 
word,  you're  getting  to  be  a  capital  joker. 
And  that  reminds  me  of  a  good  thing  that 
happened  over  in  Washington  only  yester 
day.  A  certain  member  of  the  Cabinet  who 
shall  be  nameless — for  it  was  really  a  trifle 
rough  on  him — was  walking  down  Penn. 
Avenue  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Booth,  D.D.,  and 


Onyx  and  Gold.  225 

one  or  two  others  and  myself  as  a  sort  of 
annex.  They  were  deep  in  a  theological 
discussion  when  a  poorly  clad  fellow — regular 
tramp— stepped  up  to  him  and  shook  his 
fist  in  the  Government  Official's  face,  and 
accused  him  of  about  every  crime  you 
could  mention.  A  crowd  gathered  and  we 
had  been  taken  so  by  surprise  that  there 
we  stood  perfect  pictures  of  misery,  unable 
to  get  out  of  the  mob  until  a  policeman 
came  up  and  carried  the  impulsive  tramp 
to  winter  quarters.  It  was  quite  too  funny 
to  the  rest  of  us;  but  I  thought  I  could 
detect  two  or  three  damns  lurking  behind 
the  remainder  of  that  theological  debate." 
The  Idol  winked  and  sipped  his  wine.  His 
great  reputation  as  a  raconteur  gave  color 
and  pith  to  his  story,  and  the  gentlemen 
all  laughed  heartily. 

"  Was  a  little  rough,  but  I  guess  it  wasn't 
the  first  time  he'd  heard  the  same  or  similar 
uncomplimentary  remarks — think  so?"  que 
ried  Fenton.  "  A  man  he  once  made  a  busi- 


226  Onyx  and  Gold. 

ness  contract  with  which  he  afterwards  repu 
diated  (for,  of  course,  we  can't  help  knowing 
who  you  mean)  told  me  all  I  ever  wanted 
to  know  about  his  character.  I  fancy  the 
tramp  only  repeated  what  the  pious  hum 
bug  has  been  told  so  often  that  he  must 
know  it  by  heart  by  this  time." 

"Guess  if  the  vote  of  the  country  were 
taken  on  that  topic,  the  gentleman  in  the 
winter  quarters,  and  the  gentleman  in  the 
Cabinet  would  poll  about  an  equal  vote — 
hey  ?  "  sneered  Bowman. 

"  Well,"  responded  the  Idol,  with  a 
chuckle,  "  the  vote  might  poll  pretty  even, 
but  it  wouldn't  weigh  even  by  a  good  deal 
when  the  scales  of  Justice  were  appealed 
to.  Scales  are  all  alike.  They  respond  to 
weight,  not  to  number — nicht  wahr?"  he 
ended,  smiling  significantly  at  the  Prosecutor. 

But  that  gentleman,  strange  to  say,  did 
not  warm  up  in  response  to  the  genial  Phil 
osopher  of  Success.  This  was  a  most  unusual 
experience  and  it  piqued  to  farther  effort  the 


Onyx  and  Gold.  227 

merry  social  ring-master.  At  last  he  paused 
in  one  of  his  humorous  remarks,  and  turned 
an  almost  pathetic  gaze  toward  the  original 
object  of  their  remarks. 

"  Did  you  say  that  poor  fellow  over  there 
had  fallen  into  bad  ways?  Tell  us  about 
it.  Who  is  he?  He  doesn't  look  half  bad. 
Perhaps" 

The  Prosecutor  was  in  a  surly  mood. 
"Perhaps  you'll  be  on  his  side?  Well,  I 
guess  you  will  be ;  for  the  law  is,  damn  it ! 
That's  what  makes  me  mad.  My  hands  are 
simply  tied.  The  law  is  his  partner  and  he 
is  a  thief." 

The  Idol  raised  his  eyebrows  and  pursed 
up  his  lips  reproachfully.  "  I'm  afraid  you're 
on  a  moral  crusade,  old  fellow.  Now  don't 
do  it.  Take  my  advice.  Go  with  the  swim. 
It  pays  a  hundred  cents  on  the  dollar  to  do 
that.  If  the  law  is  on  his  side,  so  am  I. 
Now  trot  our  your  case  !  Waiter,  bring  me 
some  Apollinaris ! " 

"  Well,  the   case  is  simple  enough.     He 


228  Onyx  and  Gold. 

has  defrauded  dozens  of  honest  men ;  he 
has  caused  more  than  one  to  lose  health 
and  position  and  an  honorable  hold  on  life, 
and,  this  morning,  I  followed  to  the  grave 
one  man — and  I  don't  know  how  many  more 
there  may  be — whom  he  has  murdered,  and 
yet,  as  I  say,  the  law  is  on  his  side!  I  tell 
you  it  makes  me  hot  sometimes.  I  lost  my 
temper  when  I  saw  him  saunter  in  here  to 
spend  on  a  dinner  what  would  have  saved 
the  life  of  the  poor  fellow  we  buried  to-day. 
It  is  infamous !  Infamous !  And  the  worst  of 
it  all  is,  his  case  is  only  one  of  many.  The 
law  that  protected  him  could  not  protect 
an  honest  man,  for  there  is  no  case  wherein 
such  a  man  could  need  its  protection.  Its 
very  existence  on  the  statute  books  is  an 
insult  to  honesty  and  a  menace  to  society. 
It  has  no  place  in  a  free  country.  It  is  a 
survival  from  an  order  of  things  that  Ameri 
cans  should  destroy,  root  and  branch.  It 
is  infamous  in  design  and  in  execution 
it  is  devilish.  Only  rascals " 


Onyx  and  Gold.  229 

"  Hush,  speak  lower,"  whispered  Bowman, 
"he  is  coming  past  us  on  his  way" 

"  Why,  'pon  my  word,  this  is  lucky ! 
Didn't  notice  you  until  this  instant,  or  I'd 
have  joined  you,"  said  the  young  fellow  as 
he  paused  with  his  hand  extended  to  the 
Idol.  "Don't  you  recall  Osmond?  Ah,  I 
thought  so.  Charming  evening.  Sorry  I 
must  go.  Engagement  at  the  Casino.  Are 
you  going,  too  ?  Delightful !  Meet  you 
there,"  he  added,  glancing  at  a  splendid 
jeweled  watch  and  replacing  it  in  his  pocket. 
He  bowed  slightly  to  the  other  gentlemen, 
grasped  the  Idol's  outstretched  hand  again, 
and  was  gone.  The  Prosecutor  ground  his 
teeth.  The  Idol  smiled  merrily. 

"Dear  me,  he  is  all  right!  I  didn't  rec, 
ognize  him  at  that  distance — and  side  face ; 
but  he  goes  in  the  very  best  social  circles 
and  was  at  college  with  Ned.  Lives  hand 
somely.  Bachelor  apartments  and  all  the 
rest.  I  first  met  him  in  St.  Petersburg. 
He  cut  a  wide  swath  there  and  in  Paris 


230  Onyx  and  Gold. 

too,  I  believe.  I  remember  some  talk  about 
the  gay  dinners  he  gave  some  of  the  frail 
sisterhood  over  there.  A  good  story  about 
one  of  those  same  dinners  is  told " 

The  Idol  drifted  off  into  one  of  his  spicy 
stories  making  good  his  old  reputation  as 
a  clever  after-dinner  talker.  As  they  were 
about  to  part  at  the  door  a  half  hour  later, 
Fenton  slipped  his  hand  under  the  Prose 
cutor's  arm.  "Which  way  you  going?  Any 
special  engagement?  No?  Then  do  come 
up  to  the  club  with  me.  I'm  dying  to  hear 
about  it.  What  is  the  story?  How  did 
Osmond  kill  the  fellow  ?  Why  can't  you 
twist  the  law  around  him  ?  I  always 
thought  "— 

"No,  you  didn't,"  snapped  the  Prosecutor. 
"What  you  mean  is  that  you  never  thought 
at  all  on  the  subject.  You  just  floated  with 
the  froth — as  that  shrewd  political  humbug 
advises  all  fortunate  men  to  do.  But  in 
my  opinion  the  time's  not  so  very  far  off 
when  the  patient  body  of  water  upon  which 


Onyx  and  Gold.  231 

he  and  the  rest  of  us  are,  and  have  been, 
floating  for  ages  untold,  will  break  up  into 
angry  waves,  and  then  " 

He  snapped  his  finger. 

"  And  then  ?  "  queried  Fenton,  pausing 
to  light  his  cigar. 

"  Well,  then  honest  men  will  begin  to 
see  through  the  smooth-tongued,  oily-man 
nered  humbugs  they  worship  to-day,  and 
elect  to  make  and  sustain  infamous  laws, 
and  then  their  little  jig  will  be  up.  I 
know  I  struck  him  as  a  fool,  to-night ;  but 
it  was  a  pretty  sudden  change  for  me  from 
the  poor,  bare  room  where  I  helped  to  com 
fort  the  orphans  of  Osmond's  latest  victim, 
and  saw  the  hopeless  face  of  the  widow, 
to  a  seat  at  Del's,  with  the  murderer  at 
another  table." 

The  Club  house  door  swung  open,  and 
they  entered.  They  threw  their  top  coats 
over  a  chair  and  seated  themselves  before 
one  of  the  windows  facing  the  avenue. 


232  Onyx  arid  Gold. 

Fenton  urged  again  that  he  was  anxious 
to   hear   the   whole   story. 

"  Oh,  it's  simple  enough  not  to  attract 
much  attention.  The  poor  devil  we  buried 
to-day — Paul  Bendenburger — was  an  art  dec 
orator.  He  did  exquisite  work  and  had  the 
nature  and  tastes  of  an  artist.  His  wife 
and  he  had  pinched  and  scraped  ever  since 
they  came  to  a  country  in  which  they  fondly 
hoped  for  justice  to  the  poor,  trying  to  es 
tablish  Paul  in  a  business  of  his  own.  At 
last  the  happy  day  came.  He  had  a  very 
good  little  shop  and  a  reputation  with 
wealthy  firms  of  doing  the  finest  work  with 
the  most  painstaking  skill.  Orders  that 
were  sent  to  large  firms  often  found  their 
way  to  Bendenburger  because  of  the  exquis 
ite  finish  of  all  he  did.  Well,  about  two 
years  ago  the  largest  order  he  had  ever  had 
was  sent  to  him.  It  was  to  decorate  a 
suite  for  Osmond.  No  expense  was  to  be 
spared.  Everything  was  to  be  of  the  finest. 
The  bath-room  was  to  be  of  onyx,  and  all 


Onyx  and  Gold.  233 

gilt  ornamentation  in  the  entire  suite  was 
ordered  to  be  of  i8-carat  gold.  It  don't 
take  a  great  deal  of  onyx  and  gold  to  make 
a  pretty  big  bill.  Paul  knew  Osmond  to 
be  a  rich  man.  The  order  had  come  through 
a  good  firm.  To  make  this  work  a  great 
success  was  to  place  Paul  on  a  splendid 
business  footing.  Other  rich  men  would 
send  for  him.  He  and  his  wife  were  as 
happy  as  two  children  over  it.  They  both 
planned  and  worked  day  and  night.  Paul 
had  to  mortgage  all  his  shop  and  effects 
to  procure  the  materials  to  work  with,  but 
they  were  only  too  glad  to  do  it,  for  he 
was  to  be  paid  several  thousand  dollars  over 
and  above  all  expenses  when  the  work  was 
done.  He  felt  sure  that  this  was  to  be  his 
last  hard  year.  There  was  some  delay  with 
the  other  workmen,  and  it  was  late  in  the 
fall  before  Paul's  part  of  the  work  was  well 
under  way.  He  went  back  and  forth  day 
after  day,  and,  if  truth  must  be  told,  he 
had  no  warm  coat  to  go  in.  He  took  an 


234  Onyx  and  Gold. 

awful  cold,  but  the  job  was  so  nearly  done 
that  he  whipped  himself  up  to  finishing  it. 
Once  Paul's  wife  met  Osmond  on  the  stairs 
while  he  was  exultingly  showing  a  chum 
over  the  rooms,  and  ventured  to  ask  him  to 
one  side.  She  hinted  that  if  he  would  only 
advance  a  mere  trifle  on  the  work  it  would 
be  [gratefully  received.  Well,  he  simply  flew 
into  a  rage,  and  told  Paul  to  keep  his  wife 
at  home  where  she  belonged  or  he'd  take 
the,  job  from  him  yet.  Paul  tried  to  pre 
tend  that  he  wasn't  much  ill,  and  he  would 
not  stop  to  see  a  doctor,  for  he  must  get 
the  rooms  done.  Well,  at  last  they  were 
done,  and  there  was  a  grand  illumination, 
a  dinner,  and  a  lot  of  newspaper  talk  over 
the  exquisite  work.  That  was  over  a  year 
ago  now.  Paul  was  not  at  the  dinner," 
sneered  the  Prosecutor.  "He  was  in  bed. 
The  doctor  said,  however,  that  all  he  needed 
was  plenty  of  wholesome  food  and  a  little  rest. 
He  had  worked  too  hard.  So  the  Bren- 
denburgers  felt  rather  happy,  and  waited 


Onyx  and  Gold.  235 

in  the  belief  that  after  to-morrow  the  plenty 
of  food  and  rest  would  begin  to  be  theirs." 
The  Lawyer  paused,  and  looked  out  of 
the  window  so  long  that  Fenton  ventured: 
"  Was  he  too  ill  to  recover  ?  " 
"  No  !  "  thundered  his  companion,  turn 
ing  savagely  upon  him.  "  No,  he  was  not. 
If  Osmond  hadn't  been  a  thief.  If  he  had 
paid  his  bills  even  then,  if  he  had  paid 
even  for  the  expense  he  had  put  Paul  to, 
it  would  not  have  been  too  late ;  but  he 
even  let  the  mortgage  on  the  shop,  which 
had  been  given  to  get  the  onyx  and  gold 
for  his  bath-room,  be  foreclosed !  Paul's 
wife  went  to  Osmond  again,  about  that. 
Paul  was  too  ill  and  discouraged  to  do  any 
thing,  by  this  time.  She  begged  and  pleaded 
with  tears,  only  that  he  would  advance 
enough  to  protect  the  shop,  and  take  his 
own  time  to  pay  the  rest.  Think  of  the 
infamy  of  it !  'Advance '  that  which  had  been 
already  advanced  to  him!  That  is  the  po 
sition  to  which  such  men  reduce  the  poor. 


236  Onyx  and  Gold. 

They  make  cringing  liars  out  of  honest 
tradesmen.  Well,  she  was  put  off  with  a 
promise.  When  she  was  gone,  Osmond 
simply  directed  his  valet  never  to  admit 
her  again.  Then  Paul  sat  up  on  his  sick 
bed  and  wrote.  He  told  the  whole  piti 
ful  truth  to  Osmond — even  that  they  were 
hungry  and  " 

"  Did  Osmond  dispute  the  accounts — say 
they  were  wrong  or  ?  " began  Fenton. 

"Dispute  nothing!  He  was  too  damned 
selfish  and  lazy  to  even  go  over  the  ac 
counts.  Never  made  any  claim  at  all.  Sim 
ply  said  he  couldn't  afford  to  pay  trades 
men — when  he  deigned  to  say  anything  at 
all  on  the  subject.  As  a  rule  he  said 
nothing.  But  after  a  paper  was  obtained 
which  yanked  him  up  in  supplementary 
proceedings,  he  had  to  make  some  sort  of 
reply. 

"That  was  when  I  first  heard  of  it  all. 
Paul  was  brought  into  court  a  mere  wreck 
of  himself.  His  shop  was  gone,  his  health 


Onyx  and  Gold.  237 

was  gone,  and  even  his  hope  had  almost 
died  by  this  time,  But  his  poor  little  wife 
kept  him  up  with  the  thought  that  American 
law  would  see  justice  done  to  the  poor  and 
honest,  and  that  here,  in  a  Court  of  Justice 
in  free  America,  at  least,  he  could  meet 
a  rich  man  on  an  equal  footing." 

"  I  should  think  as  much! "  remarked  Fen- 
ton,  looking  at  the  dying  light  in  his  cigar, 
and  then  drawing  out  a  fresh  weed  to  light. 
"I  don't  wonder  you  felt  your  professional 
pride  aroused  and  took  a  personal  interest 
in  getting  the  cash  for  them.  But  how  did 
it  happen  he  died  before  you  got  it?" 

"It  happened  that  he  died  before  they 
got  it,  simply  because  they  never  did  get  it, 
and  they  never  will  get  it.  Osmond  isn't 
built  that  way.  He  can't  afford  to  throw 
away  money  on  trades-people,"  sneered  the 
Prosecutor.  "  He's  got  to  spend  his  misera 
ble  pittance  of  $30,000  a  year  with  his 
friends  and  on  others  of  his  ilk.  On  our 
merry  Political  Idol — and  " 


238  Onyx  and  Gold. 

"But  the  law!"  broke  in  Fenton,  "why 
I  thought?" 

"My  dear  young  friend,  I  told  you  a 
while  ago  that  you  didn't  think  at  all.  You 
only  float.  Now,  I  haven't  a  doubt  that 
you've  read  more  than  fifty  times,  that  the 
law  holds  that  you  can't  collect  from  a  man 
who  has  an  income  left  to  him  if  he  swears 
that  income  '  is  not  more  than  enough  to 
support  him  in  the  manner  in  which  he  was 
brought  up.'  Well,  you  didn't  have  head 
enough  to  think — what  is  a  plain  enough 
fact — that  any  man  on  this  earth  who  would 
resist  an  honest  debt  by  taking  advantage 
of  such  a  law  can  make  that  claim,  and 
that  the  law  is  his  partner  in  the  theft  from 
his  victims.  Who  enabled  Paul  Bendenbur- 
ger  to  live  in  the  manner  to  which  lie  had 
been  accustomed?  No  law  looked  after  his 
interests  and  comfort.  He'd  always  had  a 
good  home  and  lived  comfortably  until  Os 
mond  stole  it  all  from  him,  and  the  law  sane- 


Onyx  and  Gold.  239 

tioned  the  theft.  Sometimes  I  get  so  hot  in 
the  collar  when  I  think  of" 

The  Prosecutor  walked  impatiently  up 
and  down  the  room,  and  then  stood  facing 
the  window  with  the  light  from  the  street 
lamp  glistening  upon  the  single  stone  in 
his  bosom. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  there 
is  no  way  at  all  for  that  widow  to  get"— 

"I  mean  to  tell  you  just  this.  By  false 
pretences,  Osmond — and  his  is  one  case  in 
many — got  Paul  and  Lena  Bendenburger  to 
impoverish  themselves  to  furnish  unneces 
sary  splendor  for  him,  that  he  caused  them 
to  lose  home,  business,  health  and,  in  Paul's 
case,  life,  and  that  the  law  says  he  has  a 
right  to  withhold  payment.  I  mean  to  say 
that  the  family  of  Paul  is  ruined,  that  he 
is  dead,  that  his  widow  is  broken  in  health, 
and  that  her  heart  is  dead  within  her,  and 
the  law  says  Osmond  may  not  be  disturbed 
in  the  enjoyment  of  his  $30,000  income,  his 
onyx-and-gold  bath,  and  the  artistic  home 


240  Onyx  and  Gold. 

he  has  filched  from  an  honest  man.  I  mean 
to  say  that  Osmond  is  a  respectable  and 
respected  citizen  hobnobbing  to-night  with 
the  leading  after-dinner  swells  of  this  city, 
and  that  I  helped  put  the  man  he  murdered 
in  a  pauper's  grave  to-day;  and  that  to 
morrow  I  shall  help  'commit'  his  wife  and 
children  to  the  tender  mercies  of  an  organ 
ization  which  combines  not  only  the  idea, 
but  the  name,  of  charity  and  correction,  so 
that  no  human  being  not  entirely  hopeless 
or  depraved  will  pass  into  its  hands.  I 
mean  to  say" 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  say  any  more ! " 
broke  in  Fenton,  "  why  can't  we  repeal  the 
law  ?  " 

The  Prosecutor  turned  slowly  around 
from  the  window. 

"  Do  you  mean  it,  Fen  ?  "  he  asked  in  an 
unsteady  tone.  "When  you  say  we,  do  you 
mean  it  ? " 

Fenton  nodded  his  head,  and  tossed  his 
unlighted  cigar  into  the  fire. 


Onyx  and  Gold.  241 

"  Well  then  we  can.  If  only  fellows  like 
you  will  help  make  public  opinion,  old  chap. 
Help  make  public  opinion  travel  the  right 
way,  and  not  trot  along  in  a  fit  of  idiotic 
glee  at  the  heels  of  the  shallow  Idols  whom 
it  pays  to  throw  dust — and  gold  dust  at 
that — in  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  too  poor, 
too  ignorant  and  too  helpless  to  have  any 
influence  whatever  on  public  opinion.  And 
whether  you  know  it  or  not,  it  is  the  pocket- 
book  that  makes  public  opinion,  old  fellow. 
He  was  right  to-night  when  he  said  that 
the  scales  of  Justice  do  not  move  for  num 
bers.  They  are  influenced  by  weight.  That 
old  chap  in  the  Bible  knew  what  he  was  talk- 
ing  about,  too,  when  he  said,  '  The  rich  man's 
wealth  is  his  strong  city :  the  destruction  of 
the  poor  is  their  poverty.'  But  come,  sup 
pose  we  drop  in  on  the  last  act  of  the  Pi 
rates  of  Penzance.  I'd  like  to  see  the  comic 
side  of  piracy  for  a  while  to-night.  I've 
seen  only  the  tragic  side  and  the  heartless 
one  all  day." 


IN  DEEP  WATER. 


"And  each  man  and  each  year  that  lives  on  earth 
Turns  hither  or  thither,  and  hence  or  thence  is  fed ; 
And  as  a  man  before  was  from  his  birth, 
So  shall  a  man  be  after  among  the  dead. 

"We  are  baffled  and  caught  in  the  current,  and  bruised 

upon  edges  of  shoals  ; 
As  weeds  or  as  reeds  in  the  torrent  of  things  are  the 

wind-shaken  souls." 

SWINBURNE. 


IN  DEEP  WATER. 

t(  TN  my  opinion,  living  is  a  waste  of 
valuable  time,"  remarked  John  Car 
roll,  sententiously. 

Everybody  laughed. 

"Of  course,  Carroll  would  top  the  argu 
ment  off  with  some  such  absurdity  as  that," 
said  one  of  the  men  near  him.  "  It  wouldn't 
be  Carroll  if  he  didn't.  But  this  time  it  seems 
to  me  he  rather  overdid  the  matter.  How 
you  going  to  waste  time,  old  man,  if  you 
were  not  living  ?  "  he  added,  turning  to  the 
imperturbable  figure  beside  him. 

"  I  don't  know.  That's  your  proposition. 
What  I  said  was  that  living  is  a  waste  of 
valuable  time.  I  didn't  say  that  not  to  live 
would  be." 

"No,  but  I  suppose  you  are  about  to 
remark  now,  that  never  to  have  been  born 


248  In  Deep    Water. 

would  be  to  truly  improve  your  opportuni 
ties,"  suggested  Bentley,  who  was  standing 
near  the  window  gazing  down  Fifth  avenue. 
"  Perhaps  so,"  acquiesced  the  first  speaker. 
"I  haven't  worked  that  proposition  out  yet; 
but  I  have  the  first  one.  I've  been  wasting 
time  living  now  for  forty  odd  years.  So 
have  you.  What's  the  good  of  it  ?  What 
comes  of  it  ?  If  you  never  had  been  born 
you  wouldn't  know  it.  By  and  by  you'll 
die — you  wo'n't  know  that  either,  and  " 

"I  cannot  agree  to  the  last  statement," 
broke  in  his  neighbor.  "  In  the  next  life 
we  will,  no  doubt,  know  all  about  this  life 
and  why  we  were  put  here." 

John  Carroll  looked  steadily  at  him  for  a 
moment  before  he  replied: 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  sen 
sible  to  know  about  it  while  we're  here  ? " 
he  inquired  slowly.  "  What  good  can  it  do 
to  know  after  we're  out  of  it  ?  If  that  plan 
is  kept  up  I  suppose  we  won't  know  what 


In  Deep   Water.  249 

we're  in  the  next  world  for  either  until  we 
move  on." 

"  Move  on!  "  exclaimed  his  neighbor  with 
a  face  so  full  of  astonishment  that  even 
Carroll  joined  in  the  laugh  that  followed 
"  Move  where  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know;  do  you?"  asked 
Carroll,  dryly. 

Doddridge   shook   his   head. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  you  might.  You 
seem  to  be  one  ahead  of  where  we  are 
now  on  the  topic  of  lives  and  worlds.  I 
didn't  know  but  you  might  be  two  ahead. 
I  don't  see  what's  to  hinder." 

Young  Doddridge  moved  uneasily  in  his 
chair,  and  said  something  about  there  being 
only  one  more  of  each. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  insisted  Carroll, 
holding  his  head  very  far  to  one  side,  and 
half  closing  his  eyes  as  he  looked  intently 
at  his  antagonist.  The  other  men  glanced 
at  each  other  and  winked. 

"  I've  tried  my  level  best  to  recall  where 


250  In  Deep   Water. 

I  came  from — whether  I  ever  lived  in  any 
other  world  before  this  one — and  I  can't. 
Looks  to  me  as  if  I  started  just  like  a  bum. 
ble-bee,  forty  odd  years  ago,  right  here.  I've 
buzzed  around  a  little,  and  built  a  nest,  and 
stung  a  few  people  by  way  of  variety,  and — 
and  when  the  frost  comes,  I'll  get  nipped 
in  the  bud,  so  to  speak,  just  like  my  bumble 
bee  and  then" — 

The  mixed  metaphor  disturbed  no  one- 
and  Carroll  snapped  his  fingers  and  made 
a  toss  with  his  hand  to  indicate  that  he 
had  finished. 

"  And  then  you'll  stop  wasting  valuable 
time  living,"  laughed  Bently,  as  he  bowed 
and  smiled  to  a  lady  who  had  just  crossed 
the  avenue  in  front  of  the  club  house. 

"  Looks  that  way  to  me,  as  an  unpreju 
diced  observer,"  assented  Carroll.  "I  don't 
know  how  it  looks  to  the  bee." 

"  His  returns  are  not  in,"  put  in  a  small 
man  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and  then 
he  grew  red  in  the  face  and  fidgeted  about 


In  Deep   Water.  251 

in  his  chair.  John  Carroll  looked  at  him 
long  enough  to  make  him  thorougly  uncom 
fortable.  He  wished  that  he  had  not  ven 
tured  a  remark.  Then  Carroll  said  slowly: 

"  That's  it  exactly.  If  the  bumble-bee's 
returns  were  in,  it  would  knock  the  big  head 
out  of  a  good  many  of  us.  I  haven't  the  least 
doubt  that  he  puts  in  half  of  his  time  plan 
ing  the  exact  spot  on  St.  Peter's  anatomy 
that  he's  going  to  sting  when  he  gets  to 
glory.  Meantime  he  practices  all  he  can  on 
us,  just  to  keep  his  hand  in.  But  you  or 
I  are  only  used  for  target  practice  while 
he's  in  this  vale  of  tears.  Real  business 
won't  begin  until  he's  translated." 

"  Carroll,  you're  the  most  blasphemous 
man  I  ever  heard  talk.  If  I  didn't  know  it 
was  two-thirds  in  fun,  and  the  other  third  not 
in  earnest,  I'd  say  you  ought  to  be  "- 

"  Try  it,"  broke  in  Carroll  turning  sud 
denly  on  his  neighbor.  "  The  trouble  with 
you  is,  Doddridge,  that  you  not  only  know 
all  about  the  next  world,  but  you  know  ex- 


252  In  Deep   Water. 

actly  what  other  people  ought  to  think  in 
this  one,  and,  if  they  don't  think  the  same 
little  picaytmish  thought  you  do,  you  are 
under  the  impression  that  they  ought  to 
ask  your  leave  to  live  at  all.  Why,  good 
God,  man,  if  our  friend  the  bumble-bee's 
bump  of  self-esteem  bore  the  same  relation 
to  his  brains  that  yours  does,  people  would 
mistake  him  for  a  young  robin,  and  feed 
him  angle  worms." 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window. 
Everybody  laughed  except  his  victim,  to  ap 
pease  whose  wrath  Carroll  laughed  also,  as 
he  laid  a  hand  on  Bentley's  shoulder. 

"  I'm  going  over  to  Governor's  Island," 
he  said  in  a  lower  tone.  "  I've  got  to  see 
a  man  over  there,  and  this  club  is  getting 
altogether  too  "- 

He  paused  for  a  word,  but  Bentley  did 
not  supply  it;  he  only  chuckled  in  a  man 
ner  that  sent  a  trembling  little  motion 
through  his  frame  and  made  radiating  lines 
about  his  eyes  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 


In  Deep    Water.  253 

lie  appeared  to  be  thoroughly  amused.  Car 
roll  began  again,  in  an  undertone,  after  a 
moment's  delay  : 

"  There's  always  some  donkey  sitting 
around  here  now-a-days,  who  feels  a  'call' 
to  assume  a  tone  of  godliness  and  infal 
libility  that  makes  me  mad.  I'm  thinking 
of  having  a  hat-band  printed  for  Doddridge, 
with  '  Be  good,  and  you  will  be  happy ' 
on  it." 

"Shall  you  use  diamond  type,  or  abbre- 
viate  some  of  the  words?"  inquired  Bentley, 
still  looking  down  the  street  and  chuckling. 
Carroll  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  had 
in  it  genuine  amusement,  and  put  to  flight 
his  irritation. 

"  I'll  let  it  go  around  twice,"  he  replied, 
and,  taking  up  his  own  head  covering,  he 
started  for  the  door. 

Once  upon  the  pavement  he  stood  try 
ing  to  decide  whether  he  should  walk  up 
to  Forty-second  street,  or  down  to  Thirty- 
third,  to  take  the  Elevated  train  for  South 


254  In  Deep   Water. 

ferry.  He  went  through  the  same  process 
of  reasoning  daily.  He  argued  that  he 
needed  the  exercise  that  the  longer  walk 
would  give  him,  and  that  there  was  no  great 
haste  about  getting  over  to  the  Island.  It 
was  a  lovely  day  in  May,  and  he  had  been 
in-doors  for  several  hours.  He  crossed  the 
street,  and,  arguing  in  favor  of  the  farther 
station,  took  "his  way  steadily  to  the  one 
that  was  nearest.  That  was  the  usual  .pro 
cess  through  which  he  went,  and  he  felt 
sure  it  would  end  just  so  each  time,  and 
still,  he  told  himself,  that  he  needed  the 
extra  exercise  so  much  that  one  of  these 
days  he  would  begin  to  take  it  regularly. 
This  appeared  to  be  a  perfectly  satisfactory 
adjustment  of  the  difficulty  for  the  time 
being,  and  so  he  settled  himself  comfort 
ably  in  a  cross-seat  and  opened  his  morn 
ing  paper.  The  sun  poured  in  through  the 
window,  and  he  sat  on  the  inside  end  of 
the  seat,  so  that  its  rays  could  not  reach 
him.  No  one  faced  him,  and  he  congratu- 


In  Deep   Water.  255 

lated  himself  that  he  had  gone  to  the  right 
station,  after  all,  for  these  seats  had  been 
vacated  as  he  entered  the  car. 

At  Eighth  street  he  heard,  in  a  vague 
and  unheeding  way,  a  rough  voice  of  com 
mand  : 

"  No,  not  that  way !  Here,  go  in  here 
— no — go  long!  Set  down!  No,  over  there! 
Good  Lord  !  W-h-e-w  !  "  Carroll  had  not 
looked  up  at  first  ;  but  the  voice  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  then  a  woman,  with 
her  arms  clasped  about  an  enormous  bun 
dle,  done  up  first  in  what  had  once  been 
white  cotton  cloth,  outside  of  which  two 
torn  and  battered  newspapers  now  essayed 
to  stretch  themselves,  half  stepped,  half  fell 
over  his  feet  and  into  the  seat  by  the  win 
dow.  Following  her  was  an  older  woman, 
carrying,  clasped  to  her  bosom,  a  tremen 
dous  oiled-cloth-covered  valise  from  which 
the  handles  were  torn  on  one  side.  She  sat 
down  with  a  thud  on  the  seat  facing  him. 
Then  the  rough  voice  went  on : 


256  In     Deep   Water. 

"  Move  over — no,  don't-git-up !  Move  over 
I  said  !  W-h-e-w  !  Gosh  !  " 

Carroll  looked  at  the  speaker  for  the  first 
time,  and  discovered  that  it  was  a  police 
man  whom  he  had  known  as  McGonigle, 
and  upon  whom  he  had  always  looked  as 
being  a  kind-hearted  and  obliging  officer.  He 
inferred  at  once — as  it  was  obvious,  from  the 
brutally  curious  faces  about  the  car,  all  of 
its  occupants  had  done  —  that  these  two 
women  were  a  particularly  vicious  pair  of 
criminals.  He  wondered  what  their  line  of 
crime  was.  Instinctively  he  put  his  hand 
on  his  pocket,  and  then  felt  for  his  watch. 
He  tried  to  do  it  as  if  by  accident,  and 
to  keep  his  eyes  turned  from  the  woman 
who  faced  him.  McGonigle  had  seated 
himself  with  his  -back  to  the  woman  who 
shared  his  seat  and  nursed  the  black  va 
lise.  He  had  draped  one  leg  carelessly 
over  the  end  of  the  seat  as  he  sank  into 
it,  and  his  foot  swung  back  and  forth  in 
the  aisle.  He  took  his  hat  off  and  mopped 


In  Deep    Water.  257 

his  face  with  a  handkerchief  that  had  been 
cleaner  a  day  or  two  before.  It  was  a  face 
so  quiet  and  serious  in  expression  that  it 
would  have  started  streams  of  envy  in  the 
breast  of  many  a  fop  who  struggles  vainly 
to  conceal  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  his 
emotions,  behind  a  mask  of  well-bred  qui 
etude  and  non-committal  placidity.  The 
policeman's  words  and  tones  had  been  harsh, 
but  his  temper  appeared  to  be  wholly  un 
ruffled.  As  he  replaced  his  hat  he  recog 
nized  Carroll  and  lifted  it  again.  Carroll 
bowed  and  smiled. 

"Why,  hello,  McGonigle!  That  you?" 
he  said,  pleasantly. 

"Its  what  there  is  left  of  me,"  replied 
the  burly  guardian  of  the  peace,  in  a  tone 
that  was  as  emotionless  and  sustained  in 
its  one  quiet  key  as  if  he  had  studied  the 
art  under  a  master. 

Carroll  laughed.  "  What  there  is  left  of 
you  would  make  two  very  decent  sized  fel 
lows  yet,  McGonigle." 


258  In  Deep   Water. 

McGonigle  was  flattered,  but  he  turned 
his  head  slowly  and  bestowed  a  long  side 
glance  upon  the  girl  who  shared  Carroll's 
seat.  The  glance  apeared  to  indicate  — 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger — that  there 
would  have  been  at  least  twice  as  much 
of  him  had  he  not  encountered  her.  Not 
that  it  was  either  an  angry  or  a  reproach 
ful  glance.  It  was  too  placidly  stolid  to 
indicate  such  lively  emotion. 

Carroll  winced  a  little.  He  wondered 
how  McGonigle  could  bear  to  make  such  a 
pointed  thrust  under  existing  circumstances, 
and  he  affected  absolute  preoccupation  with 
his  paper  as  he  stealthily  felt  for  his  pocket- 
book  again.  It  was  on  the  side  next  to 
the  girl  with  the  bundle.  He  had  taken 
another  glance  at  her  face  a  moment  be 
fore,  as  he  pretended  to  look  out  of  the 
window,  and  he  thought  again  how  hard  it 
was  to  determine  the  grade  of  crime  for 
which  such  as  she  should  merit  this  rough 
public  treatment.  The  ladies  in  the  car  had 


In  Deep   Water.  259 

looked  both  shocked  and  indignant,  and  they 
had  studied  these  unfortunates,  ever  since 
the  two  had  staggered  through  the  aisle 
under  the  double  burden  of  bundles  and 
rough  orders,  with  a  frankness  that  it  was 
painful  to  witness.  He  felt  that  the  pris 
oners  must  be  hardened  indeed  if  it  did 
not  sting  them  to  the  quick.  The  older 
woman,  who  sat  with  McGonigle,  hadn't  a 
bad  face,  Carroll  thought — not  a  very  bad 
one.  He  wondered  how  long  she  had  been 
a  criminal,  and  how  she  began.  He  thought 
her  not  homely,  though  poorly  dressed  and 
evidently  badly  frightened.  The  younger 
one,  beside  him,  was  decidedly  repellant  of 
feature.  She  looked  stubborn.  He  could 
see  her  face  in  the  narrow  glass  opposite. 

Presently  McGonigle  touched  him  on  the 
knee  with  one  of  his  enormous  fingers. 
Carroll  held  his  paper  to  one  side  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  Immigrants,"  remarked  McGonigle,  suc 
cinctly,  and  then  he  jerked  his  thumb 


260  In  Deep    Water. 

toward  the  girl  behind  him.  Then  he 
paused  as  if  the  effort  had  worn  him  out. 
Carroll  fidgeted,  for  the  policeman's  move 
ment  had  been  so  plain  that  he  felt  sure 
both  women  had  understood  it,  even  if  they 
had  not  heard  what  he  said. 

"  Had  'm  up  to  the  station  house  all 
night,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  tone  of  sad 
comment,  with  pauses  of  such  length  be 
tween  the  words  as  to  suggest  extreme  ver 
bal  exhaustion.  "  Lost  theirselves  last  night. 
Nobody  up  there  couldn't  talk  to  'em."  His 
words  were  all  pitched  on  the  same  key. 
He  looked  at  the  girl  from  time  to  time, 
with  slow  eyes  that  had  the  comprehend 
ing  quality  of  an  ox  in  their  fine  brown 
color.  Carroll  was  growing  hot.  He  af 
fected  to  read,  and  held  the  paper  so  as 
to  shield  his  own  face  from  the  sight  of 
the  two  women.  He  wanted  to  ask  if  they 
were  caught  smuggling,  or  just  what  the 
charge  was;  but  he  could  not  bear  to  feel 
that  they  knew — as  they  must — that  the 


In  Deep    Water.  261 

policeman  was  telling  him  about  them. 
Presently  McGonigle  went  on : 
"  I'm  takin'  'em  to  the  Barge  office. 
Reckon  somebody  down  there  can  sling 
their  language — sounds  like  three  grunts 
'n  a  yell ! "  There  was  a  long  pause  be 
tween  his  sentences.  He  appeared  to  labor 
with  painful  deliberation  around  the  next 
idea  he  wished  to  express,  and  then  pro 
duce  words  to  express  it  from  a  vocabu 
lary  that  had  no  adequate  means  of  egress. 
He  shifted  his  leg  to  let  a  lady  pass,  and, 
as  the  car  pulled  out  from  Chambers  street, 
he  gazed  steadily  at  the  younger  woman 
until  she  turned  her  face  to  the  window 
and  arranged  her  hat  with  both  hands. 
Then  he  turned  slowly  until  he  could  see 
the  older  one.  This  position  was  too  un 
comfortable  to  be  sustained  long,  while  his 
leg  hung  over  the  arm  of  the  seat  where 
he  had  replaced  it,  so  he  looked  at  Car 
roll  again,  and  with  no  perceptible  change 
of  expression  said : 


262  in   Deep   Water. 

"  I  don't  know  what  language  it  is  'n  I 
can't  tell  by  lookiri  at  'em.  .  .  .  But,  lord, 
it  must  be  kind  of  awful  to  be  in  a  coun 
try  where  you  can't  make  nobody  under 
stand.  ...  It  makes  me  fairly  sweat  .to 
think  of  it,''  He  abstracted  his  handker 
chief  from  his  pocket  again  and  mopped  his 
face.  Such  a  placid  face.  The  moisture 
did  not  appear  to  be  caused  by  emotion, 
in  spite  of  the  words.  Carroll  concluded 
that  the  women  could  not  understand  a 
word  that  was  said,  so  he  ventured  a  ques 
tion,  meanwhile  looking  with  great  display 
of  interest  out  of  the  opposite  window. 

"  Lord !  no,  they  ain't  criminals.  .  .  . 
They're  purty  nigh  as  green  as  they  come." 
.  .  .  Long  pause,  during  which  Carroll 
asked  a  question.  "Where  was  they  goin'? 
I  do'  know  'n  neither  do  they.  .  .  .  Found 
'em  walkin  round  lost  an  skeered.  .  .  . 
Took  'em  to  the  station-house."  .  .  Longer 
pause  and  a  steady  ox-like  contemplation 
of  the  face  of  the  girl.  Then,  while  still 


In  Deep   Water.  263 

looking  at  her:  "Mmmm!  but  I  wisht  you 
could  a'  seen  that  young  one  eat  las'  night. 
...  I  thought  she'd  bust.  ...  It  was 
axually  funny." 

Carroll  smiled,  but  beyond  the  word  there 
were  no  evidences  of  humor  or  fun  about 
the  policeman.  His  expression  had  not 
once  changed,  and  his  tone  was  the  same 
whether  the  punctuation  indicated  by  his 
words  called  for  period,  question  mark,  or 
exclamation  point. 

"  Hungry,  was  she  ?  "  ventured  Carroll, 
in  an  undertone.  McGonigle  transferred 
his  gaze  to  his  interlocutor  for  a  moment, 
and  something  very  like  expression  strug 
gled  into  his  face. 

"Hungry!"  he  said, "with  a  slight  varia 
tion  of  tone.  "  Hungry  !  Well  I  don't 
know's  she  was  'specially  hungry;  but  she 
shorely  wus  holler  plum  through." 

Carroll  raised  his  paper  suddenly,  and 
when  he  took  it  from  before  his  face  again 
his  eyes  sought  McGonigle's ;  but  that  gen- 


264  In  Deep   Water. 

tleman  was  carefully  inspecting  the  counte 
nance  and  physical  proportions  of  his  charge 
with  the  phenomenal  appetite.  His  face 
was  as  grave  and  stolid  as  ever,  but  a  gen 
uine  gleam  of  curiosity  had  struggled  into 
it.  Both  women  looked  steadily  out  of 
the  window,  and  clutched  their  bundles. 
After  a  long  survey  of  the  girl,  McGonigle 
went  on,  jerking  his  thumbs  in  her  direc 
tion: 

"  The  young  one  is  kind  of  smart,  too. 
.  .  .  You  kin  make  her  ketch  on  to  most 
anything;  but  the  other  one" — jerking  his 
thumb  toward  her — "is  'most  a  fool."  .  . 
Carroll,  in  spite  of  himself,  moved  uneasily. 
McGonigle  turned  half  around  and  exam 
ined  the  hands  clasped  about  the  large 
black  valise. 

"  Married,  too,  I  reckon.  .  .  .  Got  on 
a  ring." 

Carroll  looked  at  him  again,  to  see  if 
he  had  intended  the  juxtaposition  of  the 
ideas  conveyed  in  his  speculation  as  to  her 


In  Deep   Water.  265 

being  weak-minded  and  married;  but  Mc- 
Gonigle's  eyes  were  traveling  steadily  over 
the  face  and  figure  of  the  girl  again,  and 
nothing  but  serious  speculative  wonder  was 
in  them. 

"  But,  honest  Injun,  I  do  wisht  you  could 
'a'  seen  that  there  girl  eat  last  night.  .  . 
It  was  the  funniest  I  ever  see.  ...  I 
shorely  did  think  she'd  bust.  ...  I  was 
axually  skeered."  .  .  He  was  still  gazing 
at  her.  There  was  a  pause.  "I  never  did 
see  a  girl  eat  like  that  girl  et.  I  don't 
know  when  she  filled  up  last;  but  it  must 
a'  been  quite  a  spell  ago.  .  .  .  My  — 
lord  —  how — she  —  did  —  eat."  He  appeared 
to  be  a  trifle  nervous  yet  as  to  the  ability 
of  her  anatomy  to  withstand  the  unusual 
internal  strain,  and  his  apprehensions  were 
not  allayed  by  the  steady  pressure  of  her 
huge  bundle  against  the  overcharged  or 
gans.  But  presently  the  thought  seemed  to 
dawn  upon  him  that  Carroll  might  think 
he  was  complaining  of  his  arduous  duties 


266  In  Deep    Water. 

as  an  officer.  Something  very  like  a  smile 
struggled  through  the  settled  muscles  of 
his  face. 

"  7  been  havin'  a  good  enough  time  all 
mornin',  though.  .  .  .  Been  ridin'  around 
from  pillar  t'  post  with  them  two  girls 
ever  sense  seven  o'clock.  I  reckon  they're 
plum  wore  out  with  the  sergeant  up  t'  the 
station  house  'n  the  judge  down  't  the  po 
lice  court  'n  all  of  us  talkin'  at  'em  an' 
they  gittin'  no  where  'n  understandin'  noth- 
in.' "  .  .  He  closed  his  eyes,  and  Carroll 
had  about  concluded  that  he  was  intent 
upon  a  nap  before  he  reached  the  Barge 
office,  so  that  his  overburdened  faculties 
could  be  rested  and  ready  for  the  next  tilt 
with  the  difficulties  of  strange  and  ungodly 
languages  when,  just  as  the  trainman  called 
out,  "South  Ferry!"  McGonigle  opened  his 
eyes  and  remarked  with  unusual  energy  of 
inflection  : 

"  I    certainly   did   think   she'd   bust  !  " 
Carroll   touched   his  hat  to  the  two  wo- 


In  Deep   Water.  267 

men,  greatly  to  their  surprise,  and  watched 
them  down  the  stairs,  and  saw  them  walk 
by  the  side  of  the  ox-like  McGonigle,  toward 
the  white  stone  pile  where  some  one  would 
be  able  to  speak  the  mysterious  language. 
Then  he  turned  toward  the  slip  where  the 
little  government  boat  lay  waiting.  He 
showed  his  card  to  the  soldier  in  charge 
and  told  which  officer  on  the  Island  he  wish 
ed  to  see.  Then  he  stepped  aboard.  He 
was  the  only  passenger.  He  sat  far  for 
ward,  and  looked  steadily  into  the  water  for 
a  while.  Then  he  fell  to  wondering  what 
life  meant  to  such  human  pawns  as  those 
two  women.  What  had  they  expected  to 
find  in  America  ?  Why  had  they  come  ? 
Or  was  their  motive  too  formless  and  vague 
to  be  reproduced  in  words  ?  Had  their 
coming  to  a  strange  land  been  the  mere 
impulse  of  unsatisfied  human  craving  for 
something  other  than  they  had?  "I  won 
der  what  they  think  of  the  experiment  now," 
he  said  half  aloud.  "I  wonder  if  they  think 


268  In  Deep    Water. 

living  is  a  waste  of  valuable  time ! "  He 
smiled  as  the  idea  and  the  discussion  at 
the  club  recurred  to  him. 

"  I  venture  to  say  McGonigle  doesn't,  at 
all  hazards,"  he  thought,  as  he  stepped 
ashore,  "and  who  is  to  say  that  McGonigle 
is  not  a  profound  philosopher?" 

He  laughed  lightly,  and  climbed  the  hill 
on  his  way  to  the  officer's  quarters. 


A  PRISON  PUZZLE. 


"  As  long  as  dishonorable  success  outranks  honest 
effort — as  long  as  society  bows  and  cringes  before  the 
great  thieves — there  will  be  little  ones  enough  to  fill 
the  jails. 

"  Society  kills  its  enemies,  and  possibly  sows  in 
the  heart  of  some  citizen  the  seeds  of  murder. 

"  Where  is  the  man  with  intelligence  enough  to 
take  into  consideration  the  circumstances  of  each 
individual  case  ?  '  '  '  Is  it  possible  that  thoughts, 
or  desires,  or  passions,  are  the  children  of  chance,  born 
of  nothing?  Can  we  conceive  of  Nothing  as  a  force, 
or  a  cause  ?  If,  then,  there  is  behind  every  desire 
and  passion  an  efficient  cause,  we  can,  in  part  at  least, 

account  for  the  actions  of  men." 

INGERSOLL. 


A  PRISON  PUZZLE. 

"X/'ES,  he  was  the  queerest  man  we  ever 
had  to  handle,  since  I've  been  war 
den  here.  Generally  speaking,  I  can  size 
up  a  fellow  in  a  day  or  two,  and  I  don't 
have  to  change  my  mind  much  after  it 
once  gets  made  up — not  as  a  rule. 

You  see  I've  been  handling  criminals, 
one  way  and  another,  for  pretty  close  to 
nineteen  years,  and  a  man  learns  a  good 
deal  about  human  nature  in  its  various 
forms  in  nineteen  years.  But  Henry  Ben 
nett  was  too  much  for  me.  Of  course  that 
wasn't  his  real  name;  but  that  is  the  name 
he  was  tried  under  and  so  it  was  the  one 
he  was  always  known  by  here — except  the 
times  he  was  called  Number  432,  added 
the  warden,  smiling  grimly. 

But   Number   432  pleased  him    just  as 


274  d    Prison  Puzzle, 

well  as  Bennett — and  was  just  as  close  to 
the  mark,  no  doubt.  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  toward  the  last  that  he  hadn't  a  spot 
in  his  heart  as  big  as  a  buckshot  that  cared 
a  continental  for  any  human  being,  except 
for  Number  432,  alias  Bennett,  alias  forty 
or  fifty  other  things. 

I  suppose  his  affections  got  so  divided 
up  between  these  numerous  individualities 
of  his  own  that  he  really  had  no  further 
stock  to  draw  on  for  bestowal  upon  such 
other  units  of  the  human  race  as  he  might 
come  in  contact  with.  (This  conceit  amused 
the  warden,  and  he  drew  a  large  hand 
across  his  mouth  to  wipe  away  a  smile, 
but  it  still  lingered  in  his  eyes). 

Now,  don't  get  the  idea  that  Bennett  was 
a  brutal  fellow.  Because  that  is  just  ex 
actly  the  sort  of  descriptive  adjective  that 
wouldn't  fit  him  at  all.  Oh,  yes,  of  course, 
the  newspapers  described  him  that  way.^ 
because  most  folks  think  that  is  the  reg 
ulation  way  for  a  crook  to  be  pictured. 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  275 

In  fact,  most  people  think  lie  is  that  way. 
Why,  dear  me,  I've  heard  women  who 
wouldn't  be  able  to  detect  a  criminal,  un 
less  he  was  covered  with  blood  and  hitched 
up  tandem  with  his  victim,  vow  they  always 
could  tell  whether  a  person  was  what  he 
claimed  to  be  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Thought 
the  criminal  classes,  as  they  called  the  ones 
that  were  caged,  had  a  queer  look.  Showed 
it  in  their  eyes  and  couldn't  look  at  you 
straight  and — but,  Lord!  you've  heard  all 
that  rot  often  enough,  no  doubt,  without 
me  going  over  it.  Well,  the  published  de 
scriptions  of  criminals  cater  to  just  this 
type  of  folly.  Now,  in  my  humble  opinion, 
if  it  wasn't  for  all  that  sort  of  nonsense, 
it  wouldn't  be  so  easy  for  criminals  to  work. 
People  wouldn't  swallow  the  large  assort 
ment  of  ridiculous  bait,  if  they  didn't  feel 
sure  that  such  an  honest-faced  fellow,  as 
they  usually  express  it,  could  hardly  deceive 
them.  They  seem  to  expect  a  defaulter  to 
go  around  with  a  copper-plate  dial  attached 


276  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

to  his  face,  which  points  out  to  all  observers 
the  exact  date  of  his  deviation  from  the 
path  of  rectitude.  Since  this  patent  revolv 
ing  thief-detector  does  not  appear  upon 
Rogue  Plausible's  face,  his  shrewd  and  self- 
confident  victims  nibble  away  at  any  pre 
posterous  bait  the  scamp  may  happen  to 
offer. 

But  I've  switched  away  off  of  the  orig 
inal  track.  Well,  to  go  back.  Bennett  al 
ways  denied  the  murder — he  was  accused 
of  poisoning  a  ballet-girl  he  had  lived  with 
—though  he  acknowledged  to  pretty  nearly 
every  other  crime  on  the  calendar.  But  he 
was  such  a  picturesque  liar  at  all  times 
that  the  denial  had  no  weight,  and  indeed, 
his  confessions  had  none,  for  I  very  often 
doubted  if  he  was  really  guilty  of  half  the 
things  he  confessed  to. 

He  was  such  a  good-looking  fellow,  with 
the  frankest  and  openest  face,  too,  that  it 
was  hard  to  believe  that  he  was  the  com 
plete  moral  idiot  that  he  sometimes  claimed 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  277 

to  be  in  the  tales  he  told  of  his  past  career. 
Now,  you  look  as  if  you  thought  that  last 
remark  did  not  agree  with  some  things  I 
said  before,  but  it  does.  I  hold  that  as  a 
rule  when  a  man  looks  upon  himself  as  a 
criminal,  and  continues  long  in  that  men 
tal  condition  (and  provided,  too,  that  he 
thinks  of  crime  as  reprehensible  —  which 
many  a  criminal  does  not),  then  he  begins 
to  show  it  in  his  face  and  bearing.  The 
trouble  is  that  most  defaulters,  for  instance, 
think  of  themselves  habitually  as  honest  and 
upright  men  gone  wrong  for  this  trip  only. 
They  both  respect  and  believe  in  themselves. 
Look  at  the  average  railroad  wrecker, 
for  example.  I  don't  mean  the  petty  crim 
inal  who  only  puts  a  boulder  on  the  track 
and  makes  a  corporation  lose  a  few  thou 
sand  in  wreckage  and  kills  one  or  two  poor 
devils.  I  mean  the  kind  of  wreckers  who 
mow  down  thousands  of  helpless  people  by 
devious  processes  called  shrewd  business 
methods.  That  kind  of  a  wrecker  causes 


278  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

more  financial  ruin,  more  mental  despair  and 
more  actual  deaths,  too,  than  the  others ; 
but  he  looks  upon  himself  as  an  entirely 
honorable  man,  and,  strange  as  it  may  ap 
pear,  the  community,  the  church  to  which  he 
usually  belongs  and  the  state  to  which  he 
is  a  standing  menace,  agree  to  so  accept  him. 
They  one  and  all  do  him  honor.  Well,  now, 
you  will  readily  understand  that  his  face 
does  not  show  the  marks  of  his  crimes  be 
cause,  as  I  said,  he  does  not  look  upon  him 
self  and  is  not  estimated  by  others  as  a 
criminal.  Well,  you  can  just  carry  that  il 
lustration  through  a  thousand  other  phases 
of  crime — or  business,  whichever  you've  a 
mind  to  trace — and  find  the  parallel. 

But,  in  my  experience,  it  is  a  pretty  gen 
eral  rule  that  a  person  who  has  grown  to 
think  of  himself  as  a  criminal,  and  knows 
that  he  is  so  classed  by  others,  even  if  he 
has  only  done  some  petty  deed,  is  very  apt 
to  lose  his  more  open  and  frank  expressions 
of  face  and  conduct. 


A  Prison  Puzzle. 


Now,  Bennett  didn't.  Up  to  the  very 
last  —  even  when  we  were  keeping  him  alive 
by  medical  skill  and  dainty  food,  so  that 
the  state  could  have  a  chance  to  kill  him 
at  its  leisure  and  by  approved  machinery, 
he  never  lost  that  ingenuousness  of  man 
ner  and  method  of  conversation  that  was 
so  fetching.  He  would  tell  the  most  pre 
posterous  lie  so  simply,  so  frankly,  and  with 
so  little  reason  for  deceiving  us,  that  half 
a  dozen  times  he  caught  us  napping.  We 
believed  him.  When  we'd  find  him  out 
and  tax  him  with  it,  his  laugh  was  as  glee 
ful  as  that  of  a  little  child  —  and  held  in 
it  as  small  a  tincture  of  bitterness  or  guile. 
He  enjoyed  his  own  lies  heartily.  One 
couldn't  help  laughing  with  him.  The  spon 
taneity  and  heartiness  of  his  mirth  was 
simply  contagious.  Of  course,  such  a  man 
would  always  be  a  favorite  wherever  he  was, 
and  equally,  of  course,  his  capacity  and  op 
portunities  for  crime  were  simply  limited 
by  his  own  freaks  of  fancy  —  or  needs,  as 


280  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

the  case  might  be.  He  always  said  that 
his  first  lawless  acts  were  the  results  of 
poverty,  but  that  may  or  may  not  be  true. 
As  far  back  as  we  could  trace  him,  he  had 
not  been  impoverished  in  the  sense  that  the 
word  should  be  used.  But  to  a  man  of 
his  tastes  and  habits  it  was  the  result  of 
biting  poverty  indeed,  if  his  suite  of  apart 
ments  was  not  elegantly  appointed,  or  if 
his  wine  were  not  of  a  delicate  and  old 
brand. 

He  was  willing  to  deny  himself  the  com 
forts  of  life,  but  without  its  luxuries  he 
maintained  that  he  simply  could  not  live. 
The  old  chap  who  first  got  off  that  idea 
knew  what  he  was  talking  about,  too,  for 
it  isn't  comfortable  to  be  obliged  to  dodge 
the  law  or  one's  creditors.  It  does  annoy 
those  who  posses  the  elegancies  of  life  to 
be  hauled  up  in  supplementary  proceedings, 
and  to  be  compelled  to  swear  that  the  pay 
ment  of  a  tailor's  bill  is  a  financial  impos 
sibility. 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  281 

Well,  my  first  knowledge  of  Bennett  was 
in  a  case  of  that  kind.  He  had  a  regular 
yearly  income  at  that  time.  It  had  been 
left  him  by  will.  He  said  that  it  was  his 
mother  who  had  provided  him  with  the 
yearly  pittance,  as  he  always  entitled  it,  but 
no  one  ever  knew  how  true  that  was.  This 
pittance  was  $15,000.  He  swore  that  he 
simply  could  not  live  on  such  a  sum  as  that 
in  the  style  to  which  he  had  been  accus 
tomed,  and  at  the  same  time  pay  tradesmen 
their  bills.  He  did  not  at  all  blame  the 
tradespeople  for  demanding  payment,  but  he 
assured  the  judge  that,  upon  his  honor  as  a 
gentleman  and  his  oath  as  a  citizen,  he  sim 
ply  could  not  afford  to  allow  his  natural 
sympathies  for  the  laboring  classes  to  blind 
him  to  his  first  duty,  which  was  to  maintain 
himself  in  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
brought  up.  It  came  out  on  that  trial  that 
he  recently  had  had  fitted  up  a  magnificent 
suite  of  apartments,  one  feature  of  which 
was  a  teak  inlaid  smoking-room  twenty-four 


282  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

feet  square,  with  Turkish  divans  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  in  it.  The  total  cost  of  this 
one  room  he  said  he  really  did  not  know, 
but  the  bills  which  were  presented  in  court 
by  different  tradesmen  aggregated  over  $10- 
ooo,  and  Bennett  swore  that  he  had  been 
compelled  to  advance  a  large  sum  to  what 
he  termed  the  poor  devil  of  a  decorator  to 
enable  him  to  procure  the  raw  materials  to 
work  with. 

Well,  of  course  the  law  being  on  his 
side,  the  court  decision  left  him  with  the 
elegancies  of  life  and  left  the  confiding 
tradesmen  with — the  comforts ;  that  is  to 
say,  with  the  knowledge  of  work  well  and 
honestly  done  and  an  empty  pocket-book  to 
show  for  it.  Bennett  used  to  talk  quite 
feelingly  of  that  case  after  he  came  here. 
He  said  he  had  found  out  that  a  gentle 
man  could  get  along,  after  a  manner,  with 
out  an  elaborate  smoking-room,  and  that  he 
didn't  blame  the  workmen  for  kicking.  He 
said  he  didn't  doubt  he  would  have  done 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  283 

the  same  thing  if  he  had  been  in  their  places. 
One  day,  I  suggested  to  him  that  the 
time  might  not  be  far  off,  when,  if  that 
particular  law  was  not  repealed,  tradesmen 
might  take  another  method  of  collecting 
their  bills — a  method  not  so  comfortable 
for  the  luxurious  debtor.  Well,  you  should 
have  seen  his  face !  It  was  a  study.  "  Com 
fortable!"  said  he,  "more  comfortable  meth 
od  !  Look  here,  warden,  were  you  ever 
hauled  up  into  one  of  those  beastly  court 
rooms  in  a  supplementary  proceeding  case? 
No?  Well,  then,  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about.  There  isn't  anything 
on  this  earth  less  comfortable  than  that. 
Why,  great  God,  man !  I  had  to  confess 
that  all  the  income  I  had  was  a  beggarly 
$15,000,  and  everybody  knew  perfectly  well 
that  my  expenses  were  a  damned  sight 
nearer  $75,000  every  year  of  my  life.  Well, 
do  you  think  it  was  comfortable  after  that 
to  have  some  fellow  at  the  Club  look  as 
if  he  thought  I  needed  the  money  when 


284  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

I  suggested  a  game  of  poker  or  lost  a  few 
hundred  on  a  race  ?  Gad  !  I  don't  know 
of  a  more  ^comfortable  thing  except  the 
other  accompaniment  of  the  same  vile  court 
room.  Why  my  clothes  actually  smelled  of 
the  foul  air  when  I  came  out!  I  took  a 
cab  to  my  rooms,  of  course,  and  I  could 
plainly  detect  the  odor  all  the  way  up-town. 
It  made  me  faint.  I  went  into  that  same 
blessed  smoking-room  and  disposed  of  every 
rag  I  had  worn.  My  man  took  them,  and, 
by  Jove,  I'd  been  fool  enough  to  put  on  a 
perfectly  fresh  suit  that  morning.  I  learned 
better  than  that.  I  never  wore  a  new  suit 
to  court  in  any  case,  afterward.  It  is  a 
sheer  waste  of  good  money,  for  no  gentle 
man  could  ever  wear  the  things  again.  Then 
it's  an  insult  to  your  tailor — such  abuse 
of  his  work." 

Well,  Bennett  would  talk  like  that  even 
after  his  last  appeal  had  failed  and  he  was 
waiting  for  the  chair.  The  enormity  of  ill- 
fitting  or  bad-smelling  clothes  appealed  to 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  285 

his  mind  always;  but  the  fact  that  he  was 
convicted  of  a  most  awful  and  treacherous 
crime  I  do  not  believe  ever  gave  him  a 
real  pang,  unless  it  was  at  the  last,  and 
that  was  what  I  started  to  tell  you  about. 

As  I  said,  I  had  positively  made  up  my 
mind  that  there  was  no  human  being  out 
side  of  himself  whose  griefs,  woes  or  pangs 
could  touch  a  single  chord  of  his  nature 
more  deeply  than  to  merely  stir  a  mild 
interest — which,  after  all,  was  to  him  as  a 
species  of  mental  entertainment  or  matinee 
performance,  for  his  benefit. 

But  about  a  week  before  he  was  to  die 
an  old  lady  called  here  and  asked  to  see 
him.  She  examined  his  pictures  and  read, 
most  carefully,  the  record  of  all  the  birth 
and  other  marks  we  had  by  which  to  iden 
tify  him.  She  trembled  like  a  leaf  and  said 
as  she  read  each  one,  "Yes,  yes!"  or  she 
would  merely  nod  her  poor  head  and  weep. 

She  was  not  a  rich  woman.  I  could  see 
that  plainly  enough,  and  so  I  told  her  that 


286  A    Prison  Puzzle. 

I  suspected  she  had  made  a  mistake  and 
that  this  man  was  not  her  long-lost  son; 
but  she  insisted  upon  seeing  him,  and  I 
consented. 

I  went  in  with  her  because  I  had  a  little 
curiosity  to  see  how  Bennett  would  take 
her  claim  upon  him.  He  always  had  per 
fect  self-command,  and  so  I  felt  sure  that 
whatever  he  did  would  be  done  quite  de 
liberately,  and  it  would  give  me  a  chance 
to  study  his  nature  under  a  new  and  dif 
ferent  light. 

I  had  arranged  for  her  to  see  him  in 
my  inner  office,  but  I  had  not  told  Bennett 
why  he  was  sent  for.  He  stepped  in  quite 
briskly,  as  he  had  done  several  times  be 
fore  when  occasion  had  required  him  there, 
and  he  did  not  see  the  lady  until  he  stood 
within  four  feet  of  me.  I  was  watching 
his  face  closely. 

"  You  sent  for  me?"  he  began,  in  his 
cheerful  tone,  and  with  his  eyes  as  steady 
and  devil-may-care  as  usual.  His  glance  fell 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  287 

upon  the  lady,  who  had  risen  to  her  feet 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  he  started 
perceptibly,  and,  I  thought,  changed  color, 
but  he  was  always  so  pale  after  the  long 
confinement  that  I  could  not  make  sure  that 
it  was  not  the  usual  pallor  simply  intensified 
by  the  glare  of  light  which  had  come  sud 
denly  upon  his  face  from  my  window.  He 
looked  steadily  at  her  for  a  moment  and 
she  moved  forward.  Her  hands  were  trem 
blingly  clutching  at  a  chair  and  the  sure 
conviction  that  she  had  found  her  son  was 
written  in  every  line  of  her  unhappy  face. 

"  Edward,"  she  gasped,  "  Edward,  my  son ! 
Oh,  my  God  !  " 

She  would  have  fallen  had  not  Bennett 
sprung  with  quick  and  ready  arm  to  sup 
port  her.  It  was  done  with  the  grace  of 
a  social  expert  which  even  his  prison  garb 
did  not  conceal.  I  had  allowed  him  to 
catch  her  because  I  wanted  to  detect  him 
if  he  did  the  least  thing  to  betray  himself. 
She  did  not  faint,  but  sat  trembling  as  she 


288  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

clung  to  him  and  sobbed.  All  that  she  said 
aloud  was  "Edward,  oh,  Edward,  my  son, 
my  son ! "  This  she  repeated  over  and  over 
as  she  gazed  at  him  or  buried  her  face  in 
her  handkerchief.  At  first  Bennett  made 
no  reply  at  all,  but  after  she  had  taken  the 
wine  I  offered  her,  he  said  quite  gently  and 
still  with  the  drawl  of  his  general  speech 
intensified,  if  possible. 

"My  dear  madam,  I  can  hardly  say  that 
I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  you  are  mis 
taken;  because  in  this  costume  and  under 
these  circumstances  I  am  sure  you  do  not 
wish  to  find  your  son.  And  for  your  sake, 
therefore — although  it  cuts  me  to  the  quick 
to  disappoint  a  lady  or  to  have  you  see 
me  in  this  garb — I  am  still  most  happy  to 
say  that  your  son  is  not  here.  I  am  not 
Edward." 

He  allowed  her  to  hold  his  hand,  but 
he  glanced  at  me  and  shook  his  head.  She 
did  not  yield  in  her  belief,  and,  pushing 
back  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  placed  her  finger 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  289 

on  a  little  scar  which  had  not  been  noted 
on  our  prison  record.  Then  she  bent  sud 
denly  over  and  kissed  the  spot  and  wept 
anew.  "  Edward,  Edward !  oh,  my  son ! "  she 
sobbed  again.  "  That  little  scar  was  put 
there  when  you  saved  me  from — Edward, 
do  not  deny  me!  I  know  you  are  my  boy! 

Your   voice  !  " 

I  had  felt  sure  that  he  had  tried  to 
change  his  voice  a  little  at  first,  but  if  he 
was  acting  it  was  all  so  perfect  that  I  was 
puzzled.  He  stuck  to  it  that  his  mother 
had  died  twenty  years  before  and  had  left 
him  the  yearly  income  the  insufficiency  of 
which  had  led  to  our  first  acquaintance,  for 
I  had  been  the  court  officer,  then,  and  not 
the  warden.  The  woman  before  us  had 
probably  never  had  over  two  thousand  a 
year  in  her  life.  She  was  a  refined,  lady 
like  woman  of  that  large  class  who  go 
through  the  world  in  a  simple  and  conven 
tional  way,  never  dreaming  of  the  tempta 
tions  that  surround  those  who  are  luxurious 


290  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

of  taste,  and,  who  are  by  legal  and  social 
conditions  placed  where  a  different  reading 
of  the  words  honor  and  justice  give  to  them 
other  standards  of  right  and  new  explana 
tions  of  the  motives  and  aims  of  existence, 
which  to  her  mind  would  seem  strange  in 
deed.  Even  less  had  her  experience  re 
vealed  to  her  the  temptations  and  the  bru 
talizing  forms  of  abject  want  with  its  con 
sequent  developments  of  vice.  "  I  am  not 
your  son,  Madam,"  he  now  repeated  in  a 
firm  voice,  and  with  a  slight  smile  added, 
"You  will  permit  me  to  congratulate  you 
upon  that  fact  since — since  your  son,  let 
us  hope,  may  be  found  in  less,  ah,  in  more 
— ah — attractive  quarters."  He  waved  his 
free  hand  toward  me  and  closed  his  little 
Chesterfieldian  speech  with,  "  If  my  good 
friend,  the  warden,  will  permit  the  rude 
ness.  But  really,  these  are  not  precisely 
the  surroundings  which  a  lady  would— ah 
- — er — select  for  a  son,  I  am  sure."  A  lit 
tle  light  laugh  ended  his  remark,  and  I 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  291 

could  not  help  feeling  the  absurdity  of  it 
myself,  even  though  I  felt  keenly  for  the 
woman  before  me. 

"You  may  go  now,"  I  said  to  him,  and 
with  gentle  promptness  he  freed  his  other 
hand,  drawing  the  sleeve  back  over  the 
scar  as  he  did  so,  and  with  a  bow  to  the 
weeping  woman  and  a  wave  of  the  hand 
to  me  he  followed  the  guard  back  to  his 
solitary  cell.  The  lady  made  a  move  as  if 
to  follow  him,  but  I  restrained  her.  She 
told  me  that  she  was  absolutely  certain  that 
the  prisoner  was  her  son,  and  that  the  scar 
on  his  arm  had  been  received  when  he  was 
a  mere  lad,  in  defending  her  from  a  furious 
dog. 

"He  was  so  brave,"  she  said. •  "Always 
so  brave  and  kind  to  me,  too;  but  he  was 
ambitious  and — and — we — I — I  have  not 
seen  him  for  ten  long  years,  but  I  know 
he  is  my  son. 

"  When  I  heard  of  the  trial  and  of  the 
awful  crime  he  was  accused  of  (I  do  not 


292  A  Prison   Puzzle. 

believe  he  killed  the  girl,  warden) — when 
I  heard  of  it  and  saw  the  description  of 
him,  I  felt  sure  it  was  Edward,  who  we 
thought  was  dead.  I  planned  and  planned 
to  come,  but  my  heart  failed  me  until  now, 
and  I  have  come  a  long,  long  way.  But  I 
know  he  is  my  son.  It  is  like  him  to  try 
to  spare  me.  He  would  rather  bear  his  dis 
grace  alone.  He  will  not — he — warden,  let 
me  go  to  his  cell!  Let  me  see  him  alone, 
I  beg!" 

She  had  come  close  to  me,  and  she  held 
out  her  trembling  hands  most  piteously.  It 
was  against  our  rule,  but  I  told  her  she 
might  go.  I  decided  to  keep  her  in  sight 
and  to  watch  the  man — as  I  could,  by  a 
system  of  mirrors  which  I  always  kept  for 
that  purpose,  and  of  which  the  condemned 
man  knew  nothing. 

"Well,  do  you  know  when  she  reached 
his  cell  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek.  "  He 
is  dead!  He  is  dead!  '  she  screamed  and 
we  rushed  in,  the  keeper  and  I.  There  she 


A  Prison   Puzzle.  293 

lay  across  his  body,  moaning  and  sobbing, 
and  he  was  in  a  dead  swoon.  When  she 
found  that  life  was  not  extinct,  she  helped 
us  to  revive  him,  but  went  away  of  her  own 
accord  before  he  opened  his  eyes,  saying 
she  would  come  again,  but  that  he  might 
better  not  see  her,  perhaps,  just  now. 

After  he  had  revived  sufficiently  to  talk, 
he  said  to  me:  "I  never  could  bear  to  see 
a  woman  weep.  It  always  unnerves  me, 
and  as  you  can  readily  understand,  warden, 
this — my — ah — surroundings  are  not  exactly 
such  as — one  doesn't  care  to  have  any  lady 
see  one  in  this  condition."  He  glanced 
down  at  himself.  "Please  do  me  the  favor 
not  to  let  it  happen  again.  I  really  cannot 
bear  it,  you  know,  I'll  be  all  unstrung  for 
the — when  the  state  is  ready  to — dispense 
with  my  company.  And  really  that  would 
be  unkind  after  such  a  lot  of  trouble  to 
keep  me  in  good  form  for  the  public  show." 
The  last  was  said  with  a  sneer,  for  he  had 
insisted  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  die 


294  ^    Prison  Puzzle. 

a  natural  death  (as  he  surely  would  have 
done  had  we  let  him),  rather  than  that 
they  should  postpone  his  electrocution,  as 
was  twice  done,  to  nurse  him  back  from 
death's  door,  simply  that  he  might  be  led 
to  the  grave,  by  a  legally  prescribed  pro 
cess  instead  of  by  nature's  simpler  path. 

"  Bennett,"  said  I,  suddenly  turning  upon 
him,  "the  jig  is  up.  What  is  the  use  of 
lying  ?  She  told  me  all  about  you,  and  you 
may  just  as  well  drop  all  this  guff,  and 
give  that  poor  old  mother  of  yours  an  hour 
or  two  of  comfort  before — before — I  was 
going  to  say  before  you  die,  but  I  hadn't 
the  heart  to  say  it."  He  took  me  up  lightly: 

"  Give  her  the  comfort  of  knowing  she 
has  a  son  to  be  hanged — I  beg  pardon — 
electrocuted — next  Friday  ?  "  he  said,  looking 
steadily  at  me.  "What  do  you  take  me  for? 
A  brute  ?  No,  no,  my  friend,"  he  added,  ris 
ing  and  stretching  himself  languidly  and 
assuming  his  usual  drawl  again,  "  I  am 
really  afraid  the — ah — lady  will  have  to  be 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  295 

deprived  of  that  comfort.  I've  acted  a  good 
many  parts  in  my  time,  but  you  will  really 
have  to  get  some  one  else  to  do  Edward 
for  her.  I  wouldn't  do  honor  to  the  role. 
Now,  you'd  grace  that  part,"  he  said,  laugh 
ing  as  the  idea  occurred  to  him.  "  If  she 
comes  back,  I  absolutely  decline  to  see  her. 
You  play  Edward.  Tell  her  you  had  for 
gotten  her  address,  but  that  henceforth  she 
will  find  a  son  here  or  hereabouts."  His 
laugh  was  quite  spontaneous,  and  I  began 
to  waver  anew  in  my  opinion.  The  next 
day  she  came  again,  and  in  spite  of  his 
protest,  I  let  her  go  to  his  cell.  The  result 
was  abont  the  same,  as  before.  She  talked 
of  many  things  to  him,  and  plead  with  him 
to  tell  the  truth — to  acknowledge  that  he 
was  her  son,  Edward  Whipple.  He  was 
kind,  sympathetic,  stern,  evasive,  and  semi 
indignant  by  turns,  but  he  absolutely  denied 
all  connection  with  her.  At  last  an  idea  ap 
peared  to  strike  him.  He  asked  the  guard 
to  call  me.  I  had  been  where  I  could  see 


296  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

and  hear  every  word,  but  he  had  not  known 
it.  When  I  entered,  he  waved  me  to  a  seat 
on  his  bed  and  with  a  little  laugh  said: 
"  This  lady,  ah — er — Mrs.  Williams  did  you 
say  is  the  name?" 

Her  lips  trembled  and  tears  started 
again  to  her  eyes. 

"  Whipple,"  I  said,  now  almost  fully  con 
vinced  that  it  was  really  a  case  of  mis 
taken  identity.  "  Ah,  yes,  certainly,  Whip- 
pie,"  he  said,  bowing  toward  me ;  "  Mrs. 
Whipple,  who  has  mistaken  me  for  her  son, 
appears  to  be  in  great  grief  at  the  loss  of 
her  boy — and  no  wonder.  From  her  de 
scription  of  him  he  must  have  been  a 
model  son,  indeed,  and  I  am  sure  if  he  were 
alive  he  would — ah — er — it  would  have  been 
his  pleasure  to  do  something — ah — hand 
some  for  his  mother.  Now,  warden,  it  oc 
curs  to  me  that  since  I  have  really  no 
human  being  to  leave  my  little  beggarly 
pittance  to  (I  had  intended  to  make  you 
my  heir,  and  beg  pardon  for  depriving  you 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  297 

of  what  I  had  grown  to  look  upon  as  al 
ready  your  property) — it  occurs  to  me  that 
since  this  lady  came  here  hoping  to  find  a 
son,  and  since  I  am  compelled  to  deprive 
her  of  that — ah — satisfaction,  I  may  be  per 
mitted — I  might  return  the  compliment 
which  she  insists  upon  paying  me,  when 
she  desires  to  claim  me  as  her  dear  and  up 
right  son,  by — ah — in  a  substantial  manner. 

"I  cannot  be  your  natural  son,  Mrs.  Wil 
liams — I  beg  pardon — Mrs.  Whipple ;  but  at 
least  you  may  permit  me  to  do  what  I 
am  sure  your  son  Edward  would  wish  to 
do  were  he  in — were  I — in  case  he  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  in  a  position  to  make 
his  will." 

He  had  turned  to  the  lady,  and  was 
laboring  rather  unusually  hard  with  his 
short-coming  breath.  She  uttered  many  pro 
tests.  Said  she  had  no  thought  of  his 
money,  but  wanted  his  love  instead.  I 
watched  him  sharply,  but  as  she  spoke  he 
had  stepped  to  the  little  table  we  had  al- 


298  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

lowed  him,  whereon  lay  pen  and  ink.  I 
had  hoped  he  would  leave  us  a  confession. 
Instead  he  had  written  a  will.  I  had  been 
made  his  sole  heir.  He  now  drew  up  an 
other  exactly  like  the  first,  only  Mrs.  Whip- 
pie's  name  replaced  mine  and  I  appeared 
only  as  a  witness.  It  was  a  queer  sensation 
to  help  disinherit  myself  in  that  convict 
cell,  with  a  weeping  woman  protesting  all 
the  while,  and  the  keeper  mumbling  that 
he'd  be  damned,  when  the  document  was 
read,  and  he  was  asked  to  witness  it  with  me. 

It  was  drawn  up  in  very  lawyer-like 
shape,  too,  and  signed  in  a  steady,  fine  soci 
ety  hand, "  Henry  Bennett — Convict  No.  432." 
He  smilingly  said  that  the  latter  was  for 
better  identification. 

When  he  had  finished,  the  dazed  woman 
fell  at  his  feet  and  wept,  and  prayed  that 
he  would  acknowledge  her  as  his  mother. 
"  I  only  wish  that  I  could,  my  dear 
madam,"  he  said,  raising  her  to  her  feet; 
"  but,  whether  fortunately  or  unfortunately 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  299 

for  you  (and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
it  is  most  unfortunate  for  myself),  I  am 
not  your  son.  My  name  is  Bennett — known 
here,  purely  for  convenience,  I  assure  you, 
as  Number  432."  His  voice  was  kind  and 
gentle,  but  the  scamp  glanced  at  me  and 
winked.  I  felt  like  choking  him.  Perhaps 
the  knowledge  of  my  sudden  loss  and  how 
near  I  had  come  to  an  inheritance,  had 
something  to  do  with  the  desire,  for  as  a 
rule  he  aroused  in  me  little  feeling  aside 
from  an  intense  desire  to  read  the  riddle 
of  his  nature.  That  wink  set  my  teeth  on 
edge  and  I  felt  like  striking  him,  but  when 
the  next  moment  he  turned  pale,  and  one 
of  his  awful  sinking  spells  followed  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  reviving  him.  Again 
we  sent  the  lady  away,  and  that  night  Ben 
nett  wrote  a  note  to  her  not  to  come  to  see 
him  any  more. 

"  You  have  done  me  the  honor  to  claim 
me  as  your  son,"  he  wrote ;  "  and  I  have 
done  what  little  I  could  to  reciprocate.  To 


300  A  Prison  Puzzle. 

show  you  how  sincerely  I  wish  I  were  the 
Edward  you  have  lost  (and  yet  it  seems 
cruel  to  so  wish),  I  have  made  over  to  you 
all  I  possess,  together  with  my  sympathy 
and  grateful  thanks.  But,  my  dear  Madam, 
I  beg  of  you  not  to  come  again.  It  cuts 
me  to  the  heart.  I  am  not  so  strong  as  I 
once  was.  The  atmosphere  of  this  estab 
lishment  leaves  much  to  be  desired,  and, 
were  it  felt  important  to  society  to  prolong 
my  life  beyond  a  very  brief  time,  I  feel  sure 
a  change  of  scene  and  air  would  be  de 
cided  upon  by  those  who  had  my  best  in 
terests  at  heart. 

"Believe  me,  dear  madam,  your  obliged 
and  obedient  servant, 

"Henry  Bennett, 

"Otherwise,  No.  432." 

He  had  filled  even  this  note  with  his 
ghastly  humor,  and  trusted  to  her  dazed  and 
simple  nature  not  to  see  it.  I  remonstrated 
with  him,  but  he  only  laughed  at  me,  and 
said  that  my  objection  was  only  the  "wail 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  301 

of  the  disinherited;"  and  the  idea  tickled 
him  mightily.  Well,  while  we  were  talking, 
the  woman  came  to  the  door.  The  guards 
had  allowed  this  because  they  had  seen 
her  there  before,  and  knew  I  was  with  the 
condemned  man.  Every  one  felt  like  humor 
ing  him  and  the  general  belief  was  (out 
side  of  the  watch  and  myself)  that  he 
really  wanted  to  see  her. 

He  was  to  die  the  next  day.  The 
woman  held  out  her  hands  toward  him, 
and  then  suddenly  tottered  and  would  have 
fallen,  but  he  caught  her  in  both  his  arms. 
I  thought  he  pressed  her  to  his  breast  for 
an  instant,  but  at  once  he  placed  her  in 
the  only  chair  and  stepped  back  to  his 
cot  where  I  sat.  He  reached  over  and  took 
the  note  he  had  read  and  handed  to  me 
with  such  glee  just  before  she  entered, 
and,  as  if  in  a  fit  of  abstraction,  he  tore  it 
into  small  bits.  There  is  no  need  to  tell 
you  of  the  scene  that  day.  It  was  like  the 
others,  only,  perhaps,  less  satisfactory.  The 


302  A  Prison  Puzzle* 

next  morning  the  poor  fellow  paid  the 
penalty  of  his  crime  in  the  way  the  State 
deems  wise,  and  whether  at  the  same  time 
poor  Mrs.  Whipple  lost  a  son,  I  am  still 
unable  to  decide.  Sometimes  I  feel  sure  it 
was  a  case  of  mistaken  identity,  and  again 
I  am  convinced  that  Number  432  simply 
determined  to  shake — at  whatever  cost  to 
himself — the  faith  of  his  poor  mother  in 
her  belief  that  she  had  really  found  her  lost 
boy  in  convict's  garb,  and  that  her  child 
would  rest  in  a  murderer's  grave.  On  that 
theory  there  develops  in  his  character  a 
phase  no  one  had  suspected,  and  yet  it 
would  not  surprise  me  to  find  out  some 
day  that  Number  432  really  was  Edward 
Whipple.  But  if  I  do  discover  it,  I  shall 
never  let  her  know.  It  is  to  get  your 
opinion  of  it  all,  that  I  tell  the  story. 
Was  he  merely  the  moral  imbecile  he 
claimed  to  be — specimens  of  which  are  not 
particularly  rare  in  society — or  was  he  her 
son,  with  something  of  the  hero  in  him 


A  Prison  Puzzle.  303 

that  is  to  be  found  in  many  a  criminal  ? 
What  did  she  do  with  the  money? 
Well,  that  is  another  puzzle.  I  don't  know 
whether  it  was  because  she  lost  faith  in 
her  own  identification  of  Bennett,  or  whether 
she  would  not  use  money  that  she  be 
lieved  her  son  had  obtained  dishonestly, 
but  certain  it  is  she  would  never  use  a 
cent  of  it.  It  was  the  fund  that  bought 
this  prison  library — the  solace  and  salva 
tion  of  'Society's  Exiles'  who  are  buried 
here  year  after  year. 


"A  THOUQHTLBSS   YKS." 

BY  HELEN  H.  GARDENER. 
SOME;  PRESS  COMMENTS. 

Marked  by  a  quaint  philosophy,  shrewd,  sometimes  pungent  reflec 
tion,  each  one  possesses  enough  purely  literary  merit  to  make  its  way 
and  hold  its  own.  "The  Lady  of  the  Club  "  is  indeed  a  terrible  study 
of  social  abuses  and  problems,  and  most  of  the  others  suggest  more  in 
the  same  direction. —  N.  Y.  Trubine. 

All  the  stories  are  distinguished  by  a  remarkable  strength,  both  of 
thought  and  language. —  Pittsburg  Bulletin. 

Will  do  considerable  to  stir  up  thought  and  breed  a  "  divine  discon 
tent  "  with  vested  wrong  and  intrenched  injustice.  The  stories  are 
written  in  a  bright,  vivacious  style. —  Boston  Transcript. 

She  appreciates  humor  and  makes  others  appreciate  it.  All  of  the 
stories,  whether  humorous  or  pathetic,  have  a  touch  of  realism,  and  are 
written  clearly  and  forcibly. —  Boston  Herald. 

Bright  and  light,  gloomy  and  strange,  cleverly  imagined,  fairly  amus 
ing,  tragic  and  interesting,  by  turns. —  N.  Y.  Independent. 

Thoughtfully  conceived  and  beautifully  written. —  Chicago  Times. 

Each  story  is  a  literary  gem. —  San  Francisco  Call. 

Full  of  wit  and  epigram ;  very  enjoyable  and  profitable  reading.  Just 
long  enough  to  induce  the  wish  that  they  were  a  little  longer  —  an  ex 
cellent  feature  in  a  story. —  Portland  (Me.)  Transcript. 

Helen  Gardener  puts  moral  earnestness  and  enthusiasm  for  humanity 
into  her  stories.  Even  her  pessimism  is  better  than  the  nerveless  super 
ficiality  of  her  rivals. —  Unity  (Chicago.) 

Illustrate  the  indubitable  fact  that  the  times  are  out  of  joint. — 
Charleston  (S.  C.)  News. 

Exceptionally  excellent.  Convey  a  moral  lesson  in  a  manner  always 
vivid,  invariably  forcible,  sometimes  startling. —  Arena. 

The  author  is  not  morbid ;  she  is  honestly  thoughtful.  The  mystery 
and  consequences  of  heredity  is  the  motive  of  some  of  the  strongest. — 
N.  Y.  Herald. 

With  a  terseness  and  originality  positively  refreshing.  On  subjects 
to  suit  the  thoughtful,  sad,  or  gay. —  Mil-wattkee  Journal. 

Have  made  their  mark  as  new,  original,  and  strong.  She  could  not 
write  ungracefully  if  she  tried,  and  this  book  is  like  a  varied  string  of 
pearls,  opals,  and  diamonds. —  N.  Y.  Truth. 

A  work  of  fiction  by  one  of  the  few  feminine  philosophers  who  have 
boldly  faced  the  problems  of  life. —  Belford's  Magazine. 

Bright,   thoughtful,  and  taking.     Written  by  a   woman  with  brains, 
who  dares  to  think  for  herself. —  The  Writer  (Boston.) 
Paper,  50  Cents;    Cloth,  $1.00. 

ARENA  PUBLISHING  CO.,  Copley  Square,  Boston,  riass. 


From  the  press  of  the  Arena  Publishing  Company. 


H  le  Hit  of  the  year/' 

Price,  paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 
AN   UNOFFICIAL   PATRIOT. 

Have  you  read  Helen  H.  Gardener's  new  war  story,  "An 
Unofficial  Patriot"?  No?  Then  read  what  competent 
critics  say  of  this  remarkable  historical  story  of  tha  Civil 
War. 


Helen  H. 
Gardener 


Chicago  Times 


The  Literary  Hit 
of  the  Season 


Rockford  (111.) 
Republican 


"  Helen  H.  Gardener  has  made  for  herself  within  a  very  few 
years  an  enviable  fame  fur  the  strength  and  sincerity  of  her 
writing  on  some  of  the  most  important  phases  of  modern  social 
questions.  Her  most  recent  novel,  now  published  under  the  title 
of '  An  Unofficial  Patriot,'  is  no  less  deserving  of  praise.  As  an 
artistic  piece  of  character  study  this  book  is  possessed  of  supe 
rior  qualities.  1  here  is  nothing  in  it  to  offend  the  traditions  of 
an  honest  man,  north  or  south.  It  is  written  with  an  evident 
knowledge  of  the  circumstances  and  surroundings  such  as  might 
have  made  the  story  a  very  fact,  and,  more  than  all,  it  is  written 
with  an  assured  sympathy  for  humanity  and  a  recognition  of 
right  and  wrong  wherever  found.  As  to  the  literary  merit  of 
the  book  and  its  strength  as  a  character  study,  as  has  been  said 
heretofore,  it  is  a  superior  work.  The  study  of  Griffith  Daven 
port,  the  clergyman,  and  of  his  true  friend,  '  Lengthy '  Patterson, 
is  one  to  win  favor  from  every  reader.  There  are  dramatic 
scenes  in  their  association  that  thrill  and  touch  the  heart. 
Davenport's  two  visits  to  President  Lincoln  are  other  scenes 
worthy  of  note  for  the  same  quality,  and  they  show  an  apprecia 
tion  of  the  feeling  and  motive  of  the  president  more  than  histori 
cal  in  its  sympathy.  Mrs.  Gardenei  may  well  be  proud  of  her 
success  in  the  field  of  fiction." 

"  Helen  Gardener's  new  novel, '  An  Unofficial  Patriot,'  which 
is  just  out,  will  probably  be  the  most  popular  and  salable  novel 
since  '  Robert  Elsmere.'  It  is  by  far  the  most  finished  and 
ambitious  book  yet  produced  by  the  gifted  author  and  well  de 
serves  a  permanent  place  in  literature. 

"  The  plot  of  the  story  itself  guarantees  the  present  sale.  It 
is  '  something  new  under  the  sun'  and  strikes  new  sensations, 
new  situations,  new  conditions.  To  be  sure  it  is  a  war  story,  and 
war  stories  are  old  and  hackneyed.  But  there  has  been  no  such 
war  story  as  this  written.  It  gives  a  situation  new  in  fiction  and 
tells  the  story  of  the  war  from  a  standpoint  which  gives  the  book 
priceless  value  as  a  sociological  study  and  as  supplemental 
history. 

"  The  plot  is  very  strong  and  is  all  the  more  so  when  the 
reader  learns  that  it  is  true.  The  story  is  an  absolutely  true  one 
and  is  almost  entirely  a  piece  of  history  written  in  form  of  fic 
tion,  with  names  and  minor  incidents  altered." 

For  sale  by  all  nevjsdealers,  or  sent  postpaid  by 

Arena  Publishing  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 


PUSHED   BY  UNSEEN   HANDS." 

BY   HELEN   H.   GARDENER. 


PHILADELPHIA  INQUIRER. 

These  tales  illustrate  strange  influences  that  shape  human  action  and 
seem  to  he  outside  of  the  actor.  ...  Dr.  Spitzka,  the  brain  special 
ist,  writes  that  two  of  the  stories  deal  with  curious  things  usually  ob 
served  only  by  specialists  in  the  field  of  heredity. 

DETROIT  TRIBUNE. 

Setting  aside  the  scientific  suggestion,  the  imaginative  faculty  of 
Helen  Gardener  is  conspicuous  in  the  conception  of  plot  and  the  de 
velopment  of  character. 

INDIANAPOLIS  JOURNAL. 

The  stories  are  vital  with  earnest  thought.  .  .  .  This  author 
gives  indication  of  having  come  to  stay. 

CHARLESTON  (S.  C.)  NEWS. 

All  of  the  stories  are  striking  and  thoughtful.  Some  of  them  are 
very  dramatic  and  their  literary  quality  is  marked  enough  to  enable 
even  a  careless  reader  to  enjoy  them. 

BOSTON  GLOBE. 

An  artist  reproduces  nature  in  such  a  way  that  we  recognize  it  as  real 
or  ideal.  The  ideal  can  be  as  real  to  us  as  any  scene  beheld  with  our 
open  eyes.  .  .  .  "Pushed  by  Unseen  Hands  "is  a  collection  of 
short  stories  so  realistic  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  their  actuality. 

NEW  ORLEANS  PICAYUNE. 

A  number  of  good  short  stories,  most  of  which  turn  on  some  of  the 
mysterious  facts  that  lie  in  that  borderland  between  the  seen  and  the  un 
seen,  so  fascinating  to  the  imagination  and  so  baffling  to  inquiry.  Miss 
Gardener's  touch  is  very  exquisite  and  she  draws  her  mental  pictures 
with  the  hand  of  a  master,  showing  in  a  few  rapid  lines  more  sharp  and 
attractive  characteristics  than  many  author's  can  in  labored  pages. 

OMAHA  BEE. 

As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Helen  Gardener  has  achieved  an  enviable 
reputation,  and  her  new  book  gives  indication  that  she  does  not  intend 
to  relinquish  this  charming  method  of  giving  to  her  readers  pleasure 
with  profit,  whatever  else  she  may  do. 

CHICAGO  TIMES. 

Miss  Gardener  has  been  subjected  to  much  censure  for  her  boldness 
and  frankness  with  which  she  expresses  her  views  on  some  subjects  not 
usually  discussed  in  public.  The  Orthodox  have  ever  been  prone  to  con 
found  the  surgical  and  the  scandalous.  .  .  .  From  a  literary  point 
of  view  the  stories  are  vivid  and  artistic,  while  as  to  their  motives  and 
spirit  they  are  farther  removed  from  the  prurient  and  scandalous  than 
most  of  those  who  censure  her.  She  is  a  woman  of  remarkable  gifts 
and  of  superb  courage. 

Paper,  50  Cents  ;    Cloth,  $1.00. 
ARENA   PUBLISHING  CO.,   Copley  Square,  Boston,  Mass. 


From  the  press  of  the  Arena  Publishing  Company. 


Helen  H. 
Gardener 


A  Collection  of 
stirring,  unusual 
Stories,  dealing 
with  unhack 
neyed  themes  in 
a  masterly  way 


Helen  H.  i5ar6ener's  Essays  an6  Short  Stories. 

Price,  cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  THOUGHTLESS  YES. 

A  collection  of  short  stories  in  which  field  this  brilliant 
writer  is  especially  suggestive  and  successful.  These 
stories  have  gone  through  several  editions,  and  with  the 
continual  expansion  of  Mrs.  Gardener's  fame  as  the  author 
of  "Pray  You,  Sir,  Whose  Daughter?"  "An  Unofficial 
Patriot "  and  other  books  of  world-wide  repute,  they  find 
new  and  delighted  readers  and  admirers.  The  opinions 
of  the  press  give  the  book  a  very  high  place  as  a  work  of 
genuine  literary  art. 

Marked  by  a  quaint  philosophy,  shrewd,  sometimes  pungent 
reflection,  each  one  possesses  enough  purely  literary  merit  to 
make  its  way  and  hold  its  own.  "  The  Lady  of  the  Club"  is 
indeed  a  terrible  study  of  social  abuses  and  problems,  and  most 
of  the  others  suggest  more  in  the  same  direction. 

—  New  York  Tribune. 

Will  do  considerable  to  stir  up  thought  and  breed  a  "  divine 
discontent "  with  vested  wrong  and  intrenched  justice.  The 
stories  are  written  in  a  bright,  vivacious  style. 

—  Boston  Transcript. 

Price,  cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents, 
Helen  H.        FACTS  AND  FICTIONS  OF  LIFE. 
Gardener  A  Collection  of  Sparkling  and  Thoughtful  Essays  on  the 

Vital  Questions  of  Life,  that  should  awaken  the  conscience 
in  every  man  not  dead  to  a  sense  of  all  moral  obligation, 
and  spur  every  woman  to  stand  steadfast  and  strong  and 
demand  in  the  marriage  relation  a  manhood  that  shall  be 
A  Remarkable         as  c^ear  and  unpolluted  as  womanhood. 
Book.    It  marks  But  Helen  Gardener  is  at  her  best  in  the  most  difficult  liter- 

an  epoch  in  the  ary  channel,  that  of  the  essayist.  She  says  more  in  fewer  words 
trend  of  Social  '  than  any  writer  of  the  day,  and  learned  savants  pause  to  drink 
Thought  !  in  the  ideas  that  she  has  drawn  from  the  fountain  of  common 

sense.  Her  work,  "  Facts  at  d  Fictions  of  Life,"  has  reached  a 
large  sale,  and  is  now  being  translated  into  German,  French  and 
Russian  and  two  Oriental  lauguag°s.  These  essays  deal  with 
the  most  delicate  and  least  understood  problems  of  life,  in  a 
clear,  modest  and  uncumpromi!  ig  manner,  and  consist  of 
twelve  papers  read  at  the  World's  Fair  Congresses  by  the 
author,  who  was  listened  to  vv.th  breathless  silencs  by  the 
largest  audiences  of  the  Congresses,  and  after  each  paper  she 
received  most  enthusiastic  ovations. 

—  Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

For  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  sent  postpaid  by 

Arena  Publishing  Co.,  Boston,  Mass. 


001  034  558 


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